There to Break Your Fall
by knightlycat
Summary: Blaine was desperate to start over after his father, the most hated man in Ohio, jumps bail the day before his sentencing for investment fraud. He changes his name and flees to New York City, where he meets Kurt, who seems determined to break down his barriers. Blaine wants to believe that happiness is possible for him, but can one ever really outrun the past?
1. Chapter 1

**This is my entry for this year's Blaine Big Bang. Special thanks to my beta, Idoltina! You rock, girl!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or anything else you might recognize in this story.**

* * *

Blaine Anderson watched from the window as the last of the FBI agents' cars disappeared down the driveway. They'd spent the last two days searching the Anderson family house, this time going even as far as taking off all the switch plates and searching the voids in the walls. It seems they did a much more thorough job searching for clues about an escaped fugitive's whereabouts than they did when simply investigating one of the largest financial scams in U.S. history.

Blaine's father, Richard Anderson, had been the owner and CEO of Winterland Investment Group, an asset management firm that had amassed thousands of investors throughout of the Midwest. Blaine had always suspected that his father played it a little fast and loose with the regulations and skirted some laws, but it wasn't until a little more than a year before that the truth had been revealed. The house of cards had fallen down in a spectacular fashion, exposing that Winterland was nothing more than a Ponzi scheme, with each investor's "profits" simply stolen from the money provided by newer clients.

In the blink of an eye, it was revealed that all of the money was gone, funneled into off-shore bank accounts or used to bribe regulators. Pensions, nest eggs, and lifetime savings had all disappeared and there was nothing the victims could do.

Richard Anderson had left behind him a trail of bankruptcies, suicides, and countless ruined lives and businesses. And a devastated family.

He'd been arrested by the FBI and charged with investment fraud and a score of other crimes. Despite days of interrogation and the promise of a lighter sentence, he'd refused to give up the location of the money he'd hidden away. He'd been convicted after a lengthy trial and was released on bail to await the sentencing by a judge the FBI now suspected had been bribed. The day before he was to report for sentencing, Richard had disappeared without a trace.

The Andersons' accounts had been frozen after Richard's arrest, but they'd been allowed to stay in their house for the duration of the trial. Now that it was over, it too was being confiscated by the government. Blaine had been in the middle of packing up the few personal items that the family was being allowed to keep when the first of the FBI agents had shown up looking for his father. It'd been the first he'd heard about his father's escape.

Contrary to what most people might think, the day that his father had been arrested had been a good day for Blaine. Richard was a cold, heartless man who neglected his family, driving his mother, Gloria, to self-medicate and spend months at a time in "spas" all over the world. Blaine's brother, Cooper, had run away to Hollywood while he was still a teenager, desperate to get out. Only Blaine had stayed, which was probably the last thing his father had wanted, given that Richard had wanted nothing to do with him since he'd revealed he was gay at the age of 14.

It was ironic that his father's contempt was probably what ended up saving Blaine from being charged as a co-conspirator when the FBI had called him in for questioning about Winterland. Richard had kept him far away from the business, even going so far as to send him to boarding school in New Hampshire when he was fifteen.

What Richard had done mostly as a punishment had liberated Blaine. Without his oppressive family to contend with, he'd flourished at boarding school. His true outgoing nature, long hidden beneath the "children should be seen and not heard" mentality that his parents held, made him popular and well-liked amongst his peers and teachers. After graduation, he'd chosen to stay on the East coast for college, only returning to Columbus for good in the middle of his sophomore year when the scandal had broken, partially to help his mother and partially because there were no more funds to pay for his tuition. He had quickly lost contact with his friends, too ashamed to reply to their messages of support and offers of help.

The trial had been hard on Gloria, who couldn't seem to understand why she no longer had money to spend and why people would curse at her when they saw her on the street. She couldn't grasp that people blamed her, too, that they didn't believe that the rest of the family had been in the dark about Richard's actions, despite the fact that the FBI had cleared them of being involved.

She was now off "recovering" in Newport, Rhode Island with one of the few friends who would still speak to her. Blaine hadn't heard from her in months and it had been a year since he'd seen her completely sober.

He didn't even know where Cooper was. He hadn't heard from him in months, not since the night he'd arrived at the house soaking wet and begging for money, saying that his acting career had been ruined by their father's notoriety. No one wanted to hire the son of one of America's most hated men.

So now Richard had escaped and was probably on a tropical island with no extradition somewhere, spending his stolen money and sipping the 40-year-old scotch he loved so much.

Blaine could hardly bring himself to care. He'd already made plans to leave Columbus, even before Richard had pulled his Houdini act. He wasn't just leaving town, though. He was going to go someplace where no one knew him and start over with a new name. It didn't feel like the particularly brave choice, but it's what he was going to do. He was going to escape like even Cooper had been unable to.

The trustee who'd been put in charge of the Anderson's assets had told Blaine that he could take his clothes with him, but as he looked into the closet, with its neat rows of carefully pressed designer shirts, he realized that he didn't want any of them. They were simply artifacts of his old life. He slammed the door shut and went over to a chest of drawers, where he pulled out a stack of t-shirts and sweatshirts. He stuffed them into a large duffle bag and then added some jeans and underwear.

With one last look around at the ruins of his former life, he picked up the bag and walked out the door, leaving Blaine Anderson behind.

=^..^=

Three months later.

The air in the meeting room was stale from a combination of too many hard-working bodies gathered together after a long day and the cigarette smoke wafting in from the open door as late comers slipped in the back.

Officially, the people in the room were there for a monthly meeting of local business leaders. Unofficially, they were assembled to commiserate about shared hardships and an equally shared hatred of one man in particular.

"Any sign of that bastard Anderson?" asked a man in a power company uniform who'd had to inform his oldest daughter that he couldn't afford to send her to college the next year because he'd lost the family savings to Winterland.

"My friend at the FBI said there's no progress. It's like he vanished into thin air," a woman near the front, who'd had to lay off half of her employees, replied bitterly.

"What about the money?" another woman sitting near the door chimed in. "Have they found the accounts yet?"

"Nothing."

A fist slammed onto a table near the podium, grabbing everyone's attention. "Then they aren't looking hard enough. It wasn't their businesses that went bankrupt, their families that are out on the street. I say we find him ourselves and drag him back here kicking and screaming," a restaurant owner, who'd lost his entire retirement savings, shouted. "We know the wife is in Newport. I say we send someone to talk to her and see what we can find out."

The responses came from throughout the room.

"You don't think the feds have tried that?"

"She isn't a part of this."

"She's a drunk. I heard she barely even remembers who her husband is half the time."

"Well, we gotta try something."

A man in an expensive suit, the de facto leader of their little group, raised his hand to quiet everyone down. "I think the youngest son, Blaine, is our best bet. He's the only one in the family that stayed in town after everything went down. He was at the trial every day. He must know something."

"No one's seen him in three months. Plus, the FBI questioned him already. He doesn't know anything."

"Like the feds are perfect," the restaurant owner grumbled into his coffee.

"I have a source that says Blaine might be in New York," a tall man in the back reported. "If we can find him and the right person can get close to him, I think we have a chance of finding out what he knows."

"That idea makes me very uncomfortable," a quiet man in the back who rarely participated in the discussions, said. "We shouldn't drag the boy into this. It's not his fault who his father is."

"We're not going to hurt him. We just want information."

"He's not going to talk to just anyone."

"Are the rumors that he's gay true?" the man in the suit asked.

"Yeah, it evidently caused a big falling out between him and his old man."

"Then I have the perfect plan."

=^..^=

One month later.

The sound of a blaring car horn startled Blaine out of his daydream, sending him scurrying out of the way of the oncoming taxi. He gave a snappy salute in response to the cab driver's extended middle finger and continued on his way, autopilot leading him to French Press, the neighborhood coffee shop that was the closest thing to a regular hang out he had in the city.

Blaine worked five nights a week as a piano player in a burlesque club, which meant that caffeine was needed on a regular basis to jumpstart his day. The job helped paid the bills and if he squinted he could pretend he was fulfilling his childhood dream of being on Broadway, but the best thing about it was that no one he knew would ever imagine that Blaine Anderson would be caught dead in a place like that.

Of course, Blaine Anderson didn't work there. Brandon McCartney did.

Blaine had acquired a fake ID with his newly chosen name on it through a somewhat disreputable former schoolmate. It had taken him much longer than he'd expected to come up with his new moniker. How did one go about picking one first name and one last name out of all the ones in existence? Eventually, he'd settled on Brandon because it began with the familiar "B" and he figured that it might make it easier to get used to answering to the different name. He's picked McCartney because The Beatles were his favorite band of all time and Brandon Lennon just didn't have the same ring to it.

Blaine was actually pretty happy in New York. He was free from his oppressive family and was looking forward to building a new life for himself. He was more lighthearted than he ever remembered being and could almost forget who his father was, at least until he heard something about him on the news. The city was an excellent place for getting away from oneself.

Blaine ordered his drink and made the usual shallow chitchat with the barista before heading for the quiet table in the corner that he typically sat at. He pulled a folder of sheet music from his bag and began working on an a cappella song arrangement to be used by a singing group that one of the dancers at his club belonged to. The man had begged for help with the songs for their upcoming performance when he'd heard that Blaine had helped arrange the songs for his choir group in high school.

Blaine had agreed, even though the songs were not ones that he would have chosen and he hadn't done any arranging in several years. He was hoping that if he could improve his skills enough he might be able to build a reputation and make some money at the work.

He was partway through the first song, trying to figure out the vocal percussion needed to replicate the guitar riff in _Legs_ by ZZ Top, when a commotion erupted behind him. A man had entered the shop on a skateboard and causing several customers to have to jump out of the way in order to avoid getting run over. A woman who had just picked up her coffee from the counter reared back, knocking the man next to her into Blaine. The man's drink, which was unfortunately some kind of red colored fruit smoothie, went flying, hitting Blaine in the face and splashing all over his white long-sleeved shirt. The man came falling after the drink and ended up landing in Blaine's lap.

Through his juice soaked eyelashes, Blaine got the impression of startled blue-green eyes and carefully styled hair.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry. There was a skateboard…and an elbow…and then your lap," a flustered, lyrical voice stammered out as incredibly soft hands began to run over Blaine's face, wiping away the worst of the mess.

Blaine reached across the table and pulled a handful of napkins from the dispenser. "It's okay. It's okay. I saw what happened. Are you alright?"

The man grabbed a napkin from Blaine's hand and began to pat it into Blaine's hair. "I'm fine. I can't believe I just slushied someone. Well, fruit-smoothied, but basically the same thing. My teenage self is so disappointed in me." Blaine paused in the middle of rubbing a napkin across the base of this neck and shot the man a perplexed look. "It was a thing in my high school for the bullies to throw slushies as a means of torture," he shrugged.

"And you were…" Blaine waved a hand over the dripping mess.

"Too many times to count. And now I've done it to you. I'm horrified." Blaine felt the man's back stiffen against his arm. "And I'm still sitting on your lap." He slid off onto a nearby chair and folded his arms protectively across his middle. "Sorry. Again."

Blaine switched on the polite but distant, fake smile he'd worn way too often in his life before New York and took the opportunity to get a better look at his unwitting fruit-smoothier. He was tall and fashionably dressed in black and white striped pants and an oversized grey sweater with a brilliantly colored scarf. He looked to be around Blaine's age and had the kind of skin that his mother had spent a small fortune trying to acquire over the years. His face was bright red at the moment, but Blaine could tell that he was normally quite pale, which was probably a striking combination with his chestnut colored hair and piercing eyes.

"Really, it's all right. It wasn't your fault," Blaine reassured as he pinched his shirt and pulled it away from his chest a little to alleviate the cold that was seeping into his skin.

The man look down at the shirt and winced. "It's ruined isn't it? Why couldn't I have ordered banana today? Why'd it have to be blueberry?"

Blaine chuckled, a real smile edging out the counterfeit version. "I was tired of this shirt anyway. I should go home and change, though."

"No, no, no. I can't go back in time and stop the Great Smoothie Disaster of 2017, but I can replace your shirt. Come with me."

He stood up, holding a hand out and without thinking Blaine grabbed it and let him pull him from his chair. Within seconds they were out on the sidewalk and he was being led down three doors, to a clothing boutique he'd noticed before, but had never stopped in. The man opened the door and ushered Blaine inside.

"Don't worry, I work here. Just got off for the day, as a matter of fact. There's a bathroom in the back." The man pointed towards a door in the back absently as he began to flip through the shirts hanging on a nearby rack. "Why don't you get cleaned up and I'll pick out a few options for you to try on. My treat."

Blaine tried to object, but there was something about the man that drew him in, so he didn't try too hard. He was halfway to the door when the man called out, "Hey, I'm Kurt by the way."

"I'm Bl-Brandon. Nice to meet you."

=^..^=

As Blaine disappeared into the back, a man out on the sidewalk glared through the window at Kurt. His plan had been perfect. He'd paid that hoodlum skateboarder to barrel into the coffee shop and skate right by the table that Blaine sat at every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday like clockwork. He was the one who was supposed to have been knocked aside by the skater. He was the one that was supposed to meet Blaine and hit it off right away. Him, not that stupid, prancing go-go boy who looked like a reject from the chorus of _La Cage Aux Folles_.

All that work, two whole weeks of observing and cataloging Blaine's movements, wasted.

He pulled out his phone to report the delay and with one last scowl in Kurt's direction, turned to walk away. Time for plan B.


	2. Chapter 2

Shopping with Kurt was like nothing Blaine had ever experienced.

When he'd finally emerged, smoothie free, from the bathroom, Kurt had shooed him towards one of the changing rooms that were off to one side of the store. There, he'd found at least 10 different shirts, in all different styles, awaiting him. He'd held up a tight white and silver t-shirt that looked about two sizes too small and an elaborately embroidered button down and looked at Kurt questioningly, to which the other man had replied that he couldn't tell Blaine's style from the plain, white, long-sleeved shirt he'd been wearing, so he'd just grabbed a little bit of everything.

When Blaine had admitted that he didn't really have a style, Kurt had gotten an excited look on his face, clapped his hands together excitedly and squealed, "I love a makeover!"

Thus, the transformation of Brandon McCartney began.

Blaine hadn't really paid much attention to clothes since he'd left Columbus, and all of the expensive but staid clothes that were part of his former life, behind. Instead of boring business casual, he now bought whatever was easiest — jeans, plain t-shirts, and sweatshirts. The generic choices had served a purpose when he'd first arrived in the city by helping him blend into the background, but now that he was more comfortable and not expecting someone to recognize him at any moment they were just habit.

Blaine came out of the dressing wearing a complicated shirt that fastened with several buckles and snaps, feeling a little bit like he was wearing some sort of bondage Halloween costume.

Kurt snickered when he saw him. "Um, no. Way too complicated. You need something…simple, classic, but with personality. Just a second." He rushed off into the store, Blaine looking after him bemusedly. Kurt was so full of life, so expressive and engaging, that Blaine had a hard time looking away.

"Here, try these on." Kurt handed him a lightweight green sweater with a navy and white pattern along the collar and hem and a pair of navy pants. He slipped back into the dressing room and put the new items on. He turned to look at himself in the mirror. He looked…familiar. Not in an I've-seen-this-look-on-someone-else-before way, but in an isn't-this-what-I-was-supposed-to-look-like-all-al ong sort of way. It looked right. It looked like him.

He pushed the curtain aside and stepped out, moving to stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the far wall.

"Please tell me you like them, because if you don't I might have to give up on adopting you as a friend due to your extremely tragic lack of taste," Kurt teased as he came up behind Blaine and gave the sweater a little tug to straighten it out in back.

"No, I like it. I really do," Blaine was quick to assure him, a prickle of awareness running up his neck, through his jaw, and up the back of his head as he felt Kurt's finger tips glance across his waist.

Kurt flashed him a bright grin, his eyes crinkling in the corners. "It's perfect. Except…how would you feel about adding a shirt underneath for that added pop? Layering is often the key in creating a real personal sense of style, you know."

That set the pattern for the next hour. Kurt brought item-after-item back to Blaine to try on and he ended up with a stack of about 10 that felt as if they were calling for him to take them home. He piled the selected items in his arms and made his way to the front of the shop, where Kurt was talking with the sales person who was actually working that day. He glanced up at Blaine with a smile, which quickly turned to a look of dismay.

"I didn't bring you here to rack up a bunch of sales, I swear. I just wanted to replace your shirt. Please don't feel like you have to buy anything. I—"

"Kurt, it's okay. It's about time I upgraded my wardrobe and you were just the push I needed. I'll take all of these." He dumped the clothes on the counter and smiled at the woman behind the register.

Kurt came to stand beside him and Blaine could see that he was still worried. "Are you sure? Because—"

"I promise." Blaine grabbed Kurt's hand, which had been flailing a bit as he spoke, and held it. "Kurt, I want them. I do."

"Well, who am I to stand in the way of fashion?" Kurt murmured, the last of the tension leaving his face.

They stood looking at each other and Blaine suddenly realized that he was still holding Kurt's hand. He let go as casually as he could and turned his head to watch the saleswoman begin to scan the items into the computer.

"How do you feel about sushi?"

Blaine leaned a hip against the counter and angled himself slightly towards Kurt. "As a general concept, or…?"

Kurt bumped his shoulder into Blaine's playfully. "As lunch. I'm off for the day and I'm starving. I know a great spot just a block away. You could leave your bags here and pick them up later."

Blaine's first instinct was to decline the invitation. He hadn't socialized much since getting to New York, afraid what people would do if they learned who he was. Though most of Richard's fleeced investors had been in the mid-west, the story had been pretty wide spread and the cable news channels had covered the trial extensively.

He opened his mouth to offer up some excuse, but instead found himself agreeing. "In that case, I feel very positive towards sushi."

Kurt nodded happily and grabbed the bags containing Blaine's new clothes and carried them to the back office, showing Blaine that he was tucking them into his locker until they came back to retrieve them later. They waved goodbye to his co-worker and headed off down the block. Kurt tucked a friendly arm into Blaine's as they crossed the street. He was chattering away about how he'd first found the restaurant, but Blaine hardly heard him. His entire world had narrowed down to the few small inches where his arm and Kurt's were intertwined.

They entered the restaurant, setting the bells over the door jingling, and before Blaine knew it, they had their food and were jammed into a tiny table in the back.

Kurt lifted a piece of tuna with his chopsticks and carefully dipped it in a small bowl of sauce. "I don't do this, you know."

"Eat sushi?" Blaine joked as he struggled with his own chopsticks

"Pick up strangers in coffee shops." Kurt lifted his hand, showing Blaine the right way to position his fingers. "Or anywhere else for that matter. I'm usually much more reserved and cautious than this. You're a unique case."

Blaine's heart stuttered at Kurt's use of the phrase "pick up". He probably meant just as a friend. He took a calming breath and attempted to copy how Kurt was holding his chopsticks. "I'm honored," he teased as he finally succeeded in lifting a piece of his California roll. He couldn't hold back a triumphant noise. "Yes!"

Kurt laughed and they spent the rest of their lunch talking about Kurt's recent graduation from college, his job at the clothing store — which was just his day job as he auditioned for acting roles — and Blaine's job at the burlesque club.

After lunch, Blaine expected that he and Kurt would go their separate ways, but instead they drifted around the neighborhood, window shopping and talking. Blaine felt swept up in the energy that Kurt exuded and it felt good, like he'd met someone he could really be himself with. Not the perfectly behaved son and not the flying-under-the-radar Brandon, but himself. Finally.

The day grew long and soon it was almost time for Blaine to go in to work. They walked back to the clothing shop and Kurt retrieved the bags from the office. As they stood on the sidewalk saying their goodbyes, Blaine gathered his courage.

"Today was great, Kurt. And not just because I got free expert fashion advice." He lifted his overflowing bags up to illustrate his point. "I-I was wondering if maybe you'd like to do it again sometime. N-not the shopping, but the hanging out. With me."

"I do believe that can be arranged," Kurt replied coyly.

They exchanged numbers and promised to talk that weekend. Blaine returned home to his small, quiet apartment and dropped off his bags before making a run for the subway with just seconds to spare. As he stood in the crowded car, he thought about the enormous turn the day had taken and for the first time in a long time, he was hopeful about what tomorrow might bring.

=^..^=

Blaine bent over to retie the loosening bow on his right shoe then reached over to tighten the left one also, just in case. He stood back up and turned slightly to catch his reflection in the pane glass window behind him, eyeing his bow tie critically to make sure it was straight. He was wearing one of the new outfits he'd bought at Kurt's shop and he wanted — needed — to look perfect for when Kurt arrived.

It was their first official date and Blaine was more nervous than he'd been for any date before. He didn't know why, exactly. This one just felt…important, like he was standing at one of those crossroads of life, where the ultimate direction of his future depended on whether he now choose to go left or right.

He tamped down the urge to fidget, falling back on his old habits of perfect posture, regular breaths, and an internal pep talk to force himself to calm down. He had nothing to worry about. He already knew that he and Kurt got along and had chemistry. Everything would be fine. Kurt was just a guy. Sure, he was the most incredibly striking man that Blaine had ever met in real life, but he was just a normal person and he…was dressed in the tightest pants Blaine had ever seen and he thought for a second that his heart might jump right out of his chest, it was beating so hard.

Kurt had just emerged from the nearby subway entrance, his bounding steps making him stand out from the crowd around him. Aside from the snuggest pants known to man, he was wearing a dark brown tuxedo-style jacket with lapels in a slightly lighter color over a crisp white shirt. He looked put together and confident and so damned gorgeous that Blaine had to look away or risk embarrassing himself right out there on the street.

With a casually elegant move, Kurt swung his messenger bag higher up on his shoulder and looked around. He paused as he caught sight of Blaine and a warm smile overtook his face, exposing the smallish teeth that Blaine suddenly found that he had a slight obsession for.

"Brandon! Sorry I'm late," Kurt called out as he approached. "My audition took forever. You'd think they were looking for the next Fiyero or Phantom of the Opera on Broadway instead of Featured Ensemble Male for a show on Bleeker."

"How'd it go?"

Kurt scrunched his nose up adorably. "Unclear. The show is kind of pedestrian, but for once I wasn't lost in a sea of well-dressed, semi-flamboyant Kurt-clones at the audition. They're making the decision by the end of the week, so hope remains. Now, I distinctly remember the promise of the best beef bourguignon I've ever tasted. Please tell me that wasn't a dream."

"Nope, not a dream and I stand behind that pledge 100 percent."

Blaine led the way to the tiny little French bistro tucked behind an ivy covered trellis. They were seated quickly and he felt a rush of satisfaction when Kurt couldn't contain his exclamation of pleasure at his first bite of the rich beef dish. As they ate, their conversation bounced all over the map, from Kurt's amusing stories of clueless shoplifters, to Blaine's recounting of a catfight that had happened at work the week before, to the latest celebrity gossip. They seemed in sync on almost every topic and things were going incredibly smoothly until Kurt asked about Blaine's family.

Suddenly Blaine's food tasted like sawdust in his mouth. The question hung in the air as he sat his fork down on his plate, unable to take another bite. This was the moment he'd been dreading. He didn't want to lie to Kurt any more than he already had (he still winced inside every time he heard his fake name pass Kurt's lips), so he really had only two options, both of which could lead to this being both his first and last date with Kurt. He could tell the truth, lay out all the ugly details and hope that Kurt didn't hold his father's sins against him or he could just say that it was a subject he didn't want to talk about and risk seeming closed-off and secretive. He knew which one was the right option, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it, so he took the coward's way out.

He looked down at the table, his hand reaching out to toy with the stem of his wine glass absently. "Kurt, would you hate me if I said I didn't want to talk about it? I came to New York to get away from a lot of stuff and I just…"

A soft hand settled over his and he brought his head up until his eyes met Kurt's in the candlelight.

"I could never hate you," Kurt said earnestly. "Let's make a pact. No talk of the past, or at least not of the past before New York. As far as we're concerned, life began right here in the shiny Big Apple. Deal?"

Blaine let out the breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding and smiled gratefully. "Deal."

"How about we splurge and order some of those petit fours that are going to go straight to my hips?" At Blaine's nod, Kurt lifted a hand and snapped to get the waiter's attention. "I have this theory about how there's this section of the human stomach that can only be filled with sugar, so there's always room for dessert, even if you couldn't eat another bite of dinner."

Blaine settled back in his chair as he listened to Kurt talk. While part of him was shocked at how easily Kurt had agreed to leave the past alone, the other part of him recognized a kindred soul who also had demons he'd rather forget. Maybe together they'd be stronger than they were apart.

=^..^=

The next morning they returned to the scene of the crime that brought them together and this time Kurt ordered coffee instead of a smoothie, saying that he couldn't afford to keep replacing Blaine's clothes if another disaster should befall him. By unspoken agreement, French Press became "their" spot after that and they met there almost every day that Kurt didn't have the morning shift at work or an early audition.

For their second date, Kurt took Blaine to the Met, which was featuring a fashion exhibition that Kurt had been dying to see. Blaine found the elaborately designed dresses interesting and beautiful, but he was more interested in looking at Kurt to be honest. Everything he did was enchanting: the concentration he showed as he pressed his nose up against the glass to see the details of the stitching and beadwork, his fingers twitching at his sides as if he was longing to run the fabric through his hands; the awe on his face as they watched the video presentation of the over-the-top theatrical runway shows from the featured designers; the light in his eyes as he pointed out innovative uses of textiles and accessories, informing Blaine that he could expect to see him paying homage to some of those looks in the near future, if he could only find some of the needed pieces during his regular rounds at the local vintage stores.

Blaine could have happily spent the whole day just watching the different emotions playing over Kurt's delicate features.

Conflicting schedules kept their interactions limited to just their morning coffee for the next week. Blaine didn't want to complain; after all, an hour at the coffee shop with Kurt was better than an entire day spent with anyone else, but the lack of forward momentum in their relationship was frustrating to the say the least.

Friday night was destined to be more of the same when Kurt collapsed gracefully into a chair, mocha grasped firmly in his hands, and declared that come hell or high water he was going to spend time with Blaine that day that didn't involve sipping caffeinated beverages.

"But you work until 6, right?" Blaine asked. Kurt rechecked his schedule on his phone and nodded. "That's when I have to be at the club. We've got two shows tonight."

"Perfect!" Kurt exclaimed, a smile lighting up his face. "I'll come to the club tonight and watch you play. Then I can keep you company between shows."

Blaine tried to act cool and collected, so he promised to leave Kurt's name at the door and reserve him a table near the stage. Except for his classmates at boarding school, no one he knew had ever seen him perform. His parents had dutifully signed him up for piano lessons as a child, but had never once attended a single recital and since neither of them had ever come to visit him in New Hampshire, they'd also never seen any of his choir performances. When he was a kid, his brother had always claimed to want to come see him play, but there was always something that came up and prevented him from making it. Eventually, Blaine had stopped asking.

The warm, fuzzy feeling deep inside at the thought of Kurt in the audience caused Blaine to float through the rest of the day and his silly grin garnered him more than one side-eyed look as people tried to puzzle out why someone would be so happy about the strawberry selection at the local market.

Wait. Maybe Kurt was allergic to strawberries. What if he came over after the show and all Blaine had to feed him were strawberries that would kill him? Cake was safer. Yes, cake. He hurried over to the bakery section and sorted through the options. But what if Kurt didn't come back to his place after the show? He probably wouldn't; it was only their third date, after all, and so far they'd been taking things slow. If Kurt didn't come over then Blaine would have an entire cake that he'd have to end up eating all by himself and he actually didn't have that much of a sweet tooth, so it'd just end up going to waste.

After several minutes spent debating with himself in front of a rack of freshly baked French bread, Blaine picked up a single-serve chocolate cake and a single-serve fruit tart. Better to be safe than sorry and if they didn't eat them that night he could always bring them to the coffee shop in the morning. He put the desserts in the basket with the rest of his groceries and headed to the checkout line, his good mood restored.

He was actually impressed with himself over his restraint. If faced with the same situation when he'd been in high school he probably would have had the bakery make a cake especially for the occasion, had them decorate it with "Happy 3rd date, Kurt! I hope we're together forever!" and hired one of those strolling violin players to walk back-and-forth outside his apartment while they ate it.

When it came to dating, subtlety and restraint were not his strong points. Maybe he was getting better at this whole romance thing.

But then again, violin music _would be_ really romantic…

=^..^=

Blaine peered out from behind the curtain that separated the main customer section of the club from the backstage area, checking — for the third time in five minutes — to see if Kurt had arrived. The show was about to start, though, and the table he'd reserved was still empty. He knew that if something had come up Kurt would have at least texted him, but as he glanced down at his phone again it remained stubbornly silent.

Trying not to think the worst, he headed back to the dressing room to finish putting on his costume. Since the band performed from the stage during the show and interacted a lot with the dancers and singers, they had to wear full costume and makeup (which Blaine was actually grateful for, because him he didn't know if he could get up in front of all those people without feeling at least a little bit disguised). When Blaine had first gotten the job, the show's theme had been "World War II in Paris" and the band's outfits had looked a lot like Alan Cumming's when he played the Emcee in _Cabaret_: tight black pants, white suspenders, black bow tie, and a black leather jacket.

Thankfully, the show had switched over to a 1920s theme just two weeks before and every night Blaine said a little "thank you" for being able to wear a shirt as he played. The band's pinstriped 1920s suits and black gangster-style hats might not incite the excited squeals and cheers that the more risqué outfits had, but they certainly made for happier musicians.

Blaine did one last check just as the band was about to take the stage and was relieved to see Kurt at last standing at the table, carefully folding his jacket over the back of his chair. With a grin and a lighter step, Blaine turned to join his bandmates at the stage entrance, raising one finger to poke his hat into a jaunty angle.

He had always drawn energy from the crowd when performing, but this time was different. If he was a little more animated on stage, played with a little more gusto, and flirted with the dancers a little more than usual, he could be excused. His (unofficial) boyfriend was in the audience and half a lifetime of pent up showing-off-for-your-friends-and-family energy was hard to contain.

After the show, Blaine ducked into the dressing room to quickly wipe the sweat from his face and take his jacket and hat off. Then, he slipped out into the dining area and snuck up behind Kurt's chair.

"Hey, baby. You look like the cat's pajamas in those glad rags," he murmured in Kurt's ear with a 1920s gangster-type accent.

Kurt swiveled his head around, his surprised look giving way to a coy smile as he played along. "I had to get all dolled up to meet the guy I'm stuck on."

"Oh yeah? Well, maybe I'll just keep you company until he gets here." Blaine slid into the empty chair and motioned to the waitress to bring him his usual. "How'd you like the show?" he asked hesitantly, slipping back into his own voice.

"Everyone was great. Especially the really cute piano player. I should try and get his number." Kurt propped one elbow on the table and nibbled at his thumbnail. "His suit is really…great."

Blaine looked down and smoothed a hand over his chest. "Oh yeah? Suits do it for you, huh?" he teased.

"Every man looks better in a suit, but you? You look like you stepped out of some old classic Hollywood movie. Although…" Kurt reached up and grazed a finger by Blaine's ear, "what's going on with the hair?"

"It works for the character, right?" Blaine reached up to touch his gelled down hair anxiously.

"I was just joking," Kurt soothed. "It's very dapper. Very in character."

The waitress stopped by to take their orders, and after making their selections, they settled in to talk while they waited. Kurt asked about his efforts to turn _Barbie Girl_ into an a cappella arrangement, which led Blaine into a groaning description about how his friend had asked him to re-do the work because he hadn't matched the "emotional intensity" of the original.

"Emotional intensity? Is he talking about the deep seeded love and longing in the lyric 'Come on Barbie, let's go Party?' because I…" Blaine trailed off as he noticed that Kurt was looking at him, but not exactly meeting his eyes, his gaze settled a few inches above. "What? Is there something…?" He reached up and touched his forehead self-consciously, wondering if one of the dancers had gotten make-up on him again during the show.

Kurt shook his head and reached out to still Blaine's hand. "No. Sorry, I'm just trying to learn your eyebrows."

"Learn my…?"

"They kind of change shape based on your mood." Kurt lifted his hand again and impishly began to trace some outlines in the air. "Triangles, squiggles…I'm just trying to learn the language."

Blaine felt an overwhelming desire to pull Kurt over the table and kiss him senseless. The language of eyebrows? Who even thought of such a thing? (and did his eyebrows really move around that much? How embarrassing). He settled for reaching out and placing his hand over Kurt's on the table. Kurt stilled for a moment, his eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks, before lightly stroking his thumb across Blaine's skin.

They stayed in comfortable silence until their food arrived several minutes later.

In between eating their own meals and sneaking bites of each other's, Blaine suddenly remembered something that he'd been meaning to tell Kurt.

"One of the dancers said she knows a theater that's looking for some actors for their upcoming season. It's a children's theater, so it's not like they're doing _Next to Normal_ or anything, but I guess it's pretty popular. I can get the info if you want to look into it."

"I guess. Thanks."

Blaine was a little surprised at Kurt's listless response. Up until then, he'd always seemed so excited about opportunities to audition.

"What's wrong?"

Kurt sighed dolefully. "It's just that sometimes I wonder if getting my degree was worth it. Like maybe I should have spent that time auditioning full-time instead. Every time I lose out on a part to someone with half my talent but three times the credits on his resume I want to scream. As if having played the Flying Carpet for one performance in _Aladdin_ on Broadway because you were the swing and both understudies were out sick on the same night means you'd be a better Will Parker in _Oklahoma!_ than someone who has a degree from…" He stopped his tirade and smiled at Blaine sheepishly. "I may be a tiny bit bitter. Just a bit." He heaved another sigh and leaned heavily back in his chair. "I'm just not sure that my now extensive knowledge of quarterstaff stage fighting and Argentine tango were worth it is all."

"I kinda know what you mean. Every time my history professor spent the whole hour simply reading from the textbook I wondered if I wouldn't have been better off out in the real world, learning actual skills. I'm sure it'll all pay off someday soon, though, Kurt. You'll see. Somewhere out there is a casting agent looking for a tall, elegant, countertenor who can defeat the villain with a quarterstaff and still end the second act with a kick ass tango. And then where will your Flying Carpet nemesis be, I ask you? You just have to be patient."

Kurt looked buoyed by the pep talk and began to recount some of the funnier moments from his past auditions. Blaine didn't think he'd ever laughed harder than at the story of an audition that had turned into chaos after a pompous British director had announced in an interview that he was holding an open audition for "delicate looking men and beautiful frogs." Instead of the lovely, leggy French women he'd been expecting, over 20 people had shown up with their prized pet amphibians. Kurt's description of the director standing on his chair shrieking when two of the candidates escaped from their cages was priceless.

While Blaine was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, Kurt considered him thoughtfully.

"I almost hesitate to ask, but…what was your major in college? You mentioned a history class."

Blaine shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I was still undeclared when I dropped out."

"Dropped out? Why?"

"I-I don't—" Blaine wanted to say something, he really did, but it had been so long since he'd talked about anything from his past. So long and yet not long enough.

"Oh god, I'm sorry! Forget I asked." Kurt's voice was a little frantic, as if he expected that Blaine might get up and run away if he didn't change the subject quickly. "What are you doing for the second show? Is it the same or do I have some new fashions to look forward to?"

Blaine was grateful for the new topic, though he was frustrated with himself for not being able to open up to Kurt. Even if he wasn't ready to talk about his family, what harm would talking about his college classes do? He swore to himself that next time he'd try harder.

They finished dinner and before long, Blaine made his way backstage to get ready for the second show (same costumes, different songs). When he was done and had changed back into his street clothes, he grabbed Kurt by the hand and they headed off down the street towards the subway.

The train wasn't crowded that time of night, so they practically had the entire car to themselves. They dropped into their seats, no longer holding hands, but allowing their fingers to slide together between them.

Kurt looked around the sparsely populated car, his brow furrowed with concern. "Do you always go home this way after work? It's kind of dangerous to ride the subway alone this time of night."

Blaine couldn't remember the last time someone had worried about him. Maybe when he was 12 and had needed emergency surgery to have his appendix removed? The idea that Kurt cared settled around him like a warm blanket and made his eyes sting. He cleared his throat to clear the lump that had lodged there. "Two of the other musicians take the train one stop further than me, so I usually ride with them. I told them to go ahead without me tonight."

"Well, make sure you take a cab on nights they can't make it. Better to be ripped off legally by a cabbie than mugged at gunpoint in a subway tunnel."

"I'll promise no late night solo subway riding if you do the same."

Kurt nodded his agreement and dropped his head back against the window. "You were amazing tonight. I could listen to you play for hours."

"You kinda already did," Blaine laughed.

"No, I mean you, just you. You really feel the music, you know? I could see it on your face, hear it in the notes."

"Does that mean you'll come back again to see the show?"

"I'd like to see you try and stop me. You might as well get them to permanently reserve that table for me. I'll be one of those regulars that everyone knows. They'll call my name out when I come strolling in and have my drink waiting for me at the table. People will tease you about having your own private groupie. It'll be a whole thing. Maybe someone," Kurt elbowed him pointedly, "will write a song about me like _Tiny Dancer_ and I'll become famous."

"You won't need me to write a song about you to become famous. You're going to do that all on your own," Blaine protested loyally.

Kurt ducked his head and smiled, his fingers creeping over to cover Blaine's a little more.

The ride went too quickly and before Blaine knew it they had reached their stop. They climbed the stairs and walked down the block to the intersection where Blaine would turn right to go to his apartment and Kurt left to go to his.

It was his chance to invite Kurt back to his place for dessert and coffee, but instead Blaine remained silent. It had been a wonderful evening and he didn't want to ruin it by pushing too hard. Kurt seemed to sense his decision, because he leaned forward and softly kissed him on the cheek and didn't try for anything more before murmuring a quiet "good night, sweet prince" and walking off down the street that would lead him home. Blaine watched until he reached the corner, lifting a hand in response to the little wave Kurt sent him right before he disappeared out of sight.

Blaine turned towards his place, kicking the curb a few times as he second-guessed his decision. Stupid. So stupid. Maybe Kurt was looking for him to take the initiative. Well, next time he wouldn't chicken out. After all, fortune favors the brave, right?

Remembering back to his shopping trip earlier, he was thankful that he hadn't gone with the strawberries. A little chocolate therapy sounded pretty good just about then.


	3. Chapter 3

Blaine arrived at French Press first, so he got into line, inching forward slowly, craving his morning infusion of caffeine like a zombie craved brains. He tried to peer around the people in front of him to see what pastries were available that morning. He was in the mood for a maple bar, but they were usually sold out by the time he dragged his butt out of bed.

A jingling sound behind him heralded the arrival of someone else to the shop and then he felt the heat of a body pressed against his shoulder.

"Someday I will beat you here, I swear. The gauntlet has been thrown," Kurt said as he craned his neck to see the pastry case for himself.

"You're always worth the wait."

Kurt kissed him on the cheek. "Okay, just for that coffee's on me today. Want to share a maple bar? I don't think there's enough give in these pants for me to eat a whole one by myself."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you."

They got their drinks and food and set up camp at their usual table.

"So, I know we made plans to hang out this weekend, but I've just been given a cool project at the store that I need to work on," Kurt said as he readjusted the protective sleeve on his cup.

"Yeah?"

"The owner asked us to come up with ways to bring more customers in and my suggestion was that we try and get more creative with our window displays. We've got those two big windows out front and all we have in them are boring walls with clothes pinned to them. He liked the idea and wants me to coordinate it!" Kurt wiggled in his chair excitedly, with all the enthusiasm of a little kid. "I'm going to take my inspiration from the movie _Mannequin_ and set up provocative but funny displays that will grab people's attention."

"Uh, I haven't seen that one," Blaine admitted sheepishly.

Kurt stared at him in disbelief before shaking his head sadly. "Such a tragic commentary on today's youth. Okay, so this lonely artist wishes that the mannequin he'd just sculpted was a real girl and lo and behold, it happens — don't ask — but she only comes to life when they're alone. Hilarity ensues. 1980s rom-com at its most ridiculous, including the cartoon-like gay sidekick. It's Kim Cattrall — love her — and Andrew McCarthy, you know, Blane from _Pretty in Pink_?" He stopped and gave Blaine a look. "Please tell me you've at least seen that one."

Blaine's heart stuttered at the sound of his name of Kurt's lips and he had to bite his cheek to keep from asking him to repeat it. "Of course. It sounds like fun. The windows, I mean, not the movie. Could I help? Or at least watch? I'd love to see the creative process at work."

Kurt bounced up and down in his seat happily at the suggestion and immediately pulled out a notebook so that they could start writing some ideas down.

Twenty-eight hours later, Kurt and Blaine were ensconced in the larger of the shops two windows, an army of naked mannequins beside them waiting to be given their marching orders.

They had decided at French Press that the first set-up was going to be a scene from a rock concert. The window was pretty deep so they figured they could get in at least three rows of four mannequins each. Kurt had painted a backdrop that looked like a spotlight lit stage the night before and they were going to place the mannequins in front, each holding a fake cell phone up high, as if caught mid-slow song.

Blaine was adding some final touches to the backdrop at Kurt's request while Kurt scoured the store for the outfits he wanted to feature and although he'd never really painted much, he had to admit it was turning out kind of cool. He'd added a drum set and microphone in the center and a propped up guitar off to the left, each instrument vague and hazy, as if seen through fog effects.

Kurt stumbled through the door, wobbling under the weight of a pile of clothes that reached from his waist to his chin. Blaine rushed forward to help and they spent the next hour dressing various mannequins in their concert gear, laughing and joking around as they worked. Blaine did the initial dressing while Kurt put the final touches on, pinning here and folding there until each item of clothing looked custom tailored.

Blaine looked up from a particularly stubborn leather jacket that just refused to slide over the fiberglass hand to find Kurt sending him fleeting glances.

"What?"

"Did you ever read that book _The Tell-Tale Heart_ in school?" Kurt asked.

"I think so."

"I'm kind of having my own guilty moment. Not exactly at an auditory hallucination level, but still…"

"Huh?"

"You invited me out on a date tonight and instead I've got you cooped up here, doing unpaid labor. The guilt is eating me alive, Brandon. I feel like the phantom heart is going to start thumping under the floorboards at any moment."

Blaine felt a pang at the use of his fake name. He set aside the jacket and went to stand beside Kurt, grabbing his hand and threading their fingers together. "I'd rather spend an hour doing manual labor with you than spend an evening in an expensive restaurant with anyone else."

"That may be the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me. If I get tear stains on this silk, you'll be in big trouble, mister."

Blaine trailed a hand up Kurt's arm to cup his shoulder. He'd meant only to give it a squeeze, but just then the tip of Kurt's tongue poked out to wet his lips and Blaine knew he was a goner. His heart began to race and he leaned forward, giving Kurt plenty of time to pull back, but instead Kurt's head dipped and met him halfway in the middle.

The first kiss was tentative and brief; barely a kiss at all, really. Blaine retreated just enough so that he could get a glimpse of Kurt's eyes and what he saw there had him diving forward to capture Kurt's mouth again.

Kurt tasted like coffee and the Sugar lip balm he'd admitted to being addicted to the day they'd met and if it that was what made his lips so soft and pliant, then Blaine would go out immediately and buy him a whole case.

Blaine wrapped an arm around Kurt's back as Kurt reached up to cradle the side of his face gently. He leaned into the touch as he coaxed Kurt's mouth open just enough so that his tongue could slide inside. The sound Kurt made at the motion was probably illegal in most of the Southern states (and Montana) and caused Blaine's hand to clench a bit, his fingers digging into the taut muscles beneath them.

Somehow, he ended up with his back against the window, Kurt pressing against him tightly as they deepened the kiss even further. Blaine sunk into the sensation, losing all sense of the room and their surroundings, his entire existence in that moment concentrated on the press of Kurt's chest against his, their tongues slipping together, then dancing apart.

He held out as long as he could, but finally he drug his mouth away, moving to touch it to Kurt's shoulder as he fought to catch his breath. As he rested there, he began to feel Kurt's body shaking. Confused, he pulled back and looked up, only to find Kurt clamping his lips together in an effort to fight off a smile. His silent laughter grew as he put his hands on Blaine's shoulders and spun him around.

There, outside the window, a group of four teenage girls stood on the sidewalk, staring at them and giggling like maniacs. One of them mouthed "do it again" as she made kissy faces at them through the glass.

Kurt finally let the grin take over his face and sunk down into a curtsey, touching one finger to the tip of his chin. With a tug of his hand, his coaxed Blaine into a bow beside him. When no repeat make-out session was forthcoming, the girls pouted in disappointment and continued on their way.

"Well, that's one way to bring attention to the store," Kurt chuckled as he slid down to the ground with his back against the window.

Blaine sat down next to him, resting his wrists on his bent knees. "It'd probably give the wrong impression of what kind of shop it is, though."

"But on the other hand it'd bring in a whole new clientele."

Kurt reached for Blaine's hand and grasped it tightly, still snickering.

Blaine's heart skipped a beat as he smiled back.

=^..^=

Having two ever changing schedules built around auditions, retail sales hours, and semi-irregular rehearsals could be a challenge when trying to find time together, but when the stars aligned to allow for Wednesday afternoon picnics in Central Park on sunny spring days, Blaine couldn't help but count himself lucky.

It'd been more than three days since their kiss in the store window and he and Kurt hadn't seen each other since. Blaine had replayed the kiss in his head so many times that it had gotten to the point where he'd even started to wonder if it was something he made up, a figment of his imagination that had been in such full Technicolor that he'd fooled himself into believing it to be something that had actually happened. He needed to see Kurt again to anchor himself in reality.

They'd initially made plans to grab lunch at the sushi place again, but the weather was turning out to be so great that Blaine had texted Kurt earlier that morning to ask if he minded a change in plans. Kurt had balked a bit at first, a little reluctant to expose himself to that much sun so soon after the hibernation of winter, but Blaine had won him over by promising to come armed with a bottle of 110 SPF sunscreen (non-pore clogging facial formula, of course).

Kurt had pulled a split shift at work and would be free from noon until he had to return at 3 p.m. The store was mostly staffed by aspiring actors and dancers, so the owner was great about giving time off for auditions, but that often resulted in convoluted work schedules when gaps needed to be filled.

Blaine arrived at the shop, sunscreen and picnic blanket in hand, just as Kurt was clocking out. Kurt nodded with a smile when Blaine held the sunscreen out for his approval, but Blaine could see that he looked tired and pale — definitely not presenting his usual fresh-off-the-pages-of-a-magazine perfection. Kurt took the sunscreen with him into the back and returned a few minutes later armored for battle with the sun and with a light blue, summer-weight scarf draped just so around his neck.

They jumped on the subway in the direction of the park and stopped at a Thai restaurant for take-out before heading for a quiet spot by Turtle Pond. They talked a little as they walked, but Blaine could practically see the proverbial little rain cloud sitting above Kurt's head that was adding a general sense of melancholy to the day.

He reached out tentatively to grasp Kurt's hand as they approached the pond, hoping that it wasn't their kiss that had his spirits down. His heart lifted when Kurt smiled at him and squeezed his hand gently.

They settled down in a sunny patch to eat, quietly people watching as they munched on their rice and noodles.

When Kurt finished his lunch, he reached for an empty straw wrapper from the plastic bag beside him, his attention concentrated on precisely folding it in a zigzag pattern. When he was done, he began to pull the folded paper open and shut, like it was an accordion.

Blaine watched quietly, knowing that something was wrong but not wanting to pry. He could hear his mother's voice in his ear, telling him that people with good manners didn't ask personal questions or pry into other people's business. Her life was hardly one worth emulating, though, so Blaine decided to forge his own path.

"I'm not going to push, but if something's bothering you, I hope you know you can talk to me about it."

Kurt sighed and pushed his little folded paper down onto the grass beside him, watching intently as it sprang up and open. "It's nothing. I just got some unexpected news."

"About one of your auditions?"

"No, I…look, it's family and other stuff and I know you don't want to talk about that, so—"

"Kurt, no. That's my hang up. I didn't mean that you can't…" Blaine closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he tried to form a coherent sentence. He opened his eyes and reached out with a finger to lift Kurt's chin so that they were looking eye-to-eye. "I don't want you to ever feel like you need to hide or not talk about something that's bothering you because of my stupid issues. Please."

Kurt stared at him silently for several seconds before seeming to come to some sort of a decision. "I got a call from someone I knew back home and he told me some things that…" Kurt trailed off, his eyes going distant again.

"That?" Blaine prompted.

"A bunch of things really, but h-he mentioned that my dad is having some health problems again. I've talked to my dad twice this week and he hasn't said anything!" Kurt's voice rose and he began to agitatedly shred his little paper accordion. "Why wouldn't he tell me unless something's really wrong? He had a really bad episode with his heart when I was in high school and he's been under a lot of stress lately, so I'm just worried…worried that..."

"Are you sure your friend was right? Maybe he's mistaken. Is he close to your dad?"

Kurt grimaced. "I didn't even realize they knew each other, actually."

"Then maybe he heard something second hand and got it wrong. You should talk to your dad before jumping to conclusions. I'm sure if you asked he'd tell you the truth."

"You're right. Of course, you're right." Kurt's expression cleared a little, lifting a weight off of Blaine's chest that he hadn't even realized was there. "My dad might not volunteer bad news if he doesn't want to worry me, but he'd never lie to me if I asked. I'll call him tonight."

He leaned forward and kissed Blaine lightly, his lips tasting like curry and orange soda.

Blaine laid back in the grass, pillowing his head on one arm. "Tell me about him."

Kurt pushed his empty food container to the side and stretched out beside Blaine on his stomach. He propped himself up on his elbows, knees bent and legs kicking in the air. "Are you sure? Because—"

"Kurt," Blaine said with a low, but playful warning growl.

"Okay, okay. My dad. Huh. Picture the guy least likely to be my dad and a champion of gay rights in a flannel shirt and a trucker hat…"

Blaine listened to Kurt talk, the lilt of his voice and the warmth of the sunshine lulling him into a drowsy haze. It was the first time Kurt had mentioned anything specific about his family or past and it almost — almost — made him want to reciprocate.

Even without getting into the whole criminal mastermind saga he didn't have a lot of fun stories. What in the world he tell Kurt about? The time when he was sixteen and he'd heard his parents having a huge fight about Richard's latest mistress? The fact that he was having an affair was nothing new — he'd never made any attempt to hide any of the women he slept with — but that time he'd threatened a divorce, which had never happened before. He claimed to be in love with the other woman and it actually seemed to be true, at least to the extent that someone like him could love.

The woman worked for one of the charities that Richard's company gave money to and they'd been introduced at a golf tournament the year before. She was young and beautiful and decidedly not of the Anderson's social standing. Blaine's mother had seemed more upset about that fact than anything else, crying about what people would think down at the club if Richard left her for someone from the lower-middle class and saying that she wouldn't be able to face her friends ever again.

His parents had gone into the study and shut the door after that, so Blaine hadn't heard the rest of their argument, but Grace had somehow convinced his father to stay. Later, Blaine had wondered if she'd known something about the Winterland scam even back then and had used that knowledge to coerce him.

Whatever the reason, Richard had stayed and had even broken things off with the other woman.

A few years later, during a rare trip home from boarding school, Blaine had found a printed copy of a recent email from the woman, sent to an account he wasn't familiar with, in his dad's office while he'd been filling out some paperwork for college. She'd thanked Richard for the money he'd sent and told him that she still loved him.

His father had caught him reading the letter and had tossed it into the fireplace.

Or maybe he'd entertain Kurt with the tale of how his father hadn't spoken to him for six months after he'd announced he was gay — not even a "pass the salt" or "where's the remote." His mother had been gone on one of her "retreats" for much of that time, so Blaine had been left pretty much on his own, except for the housekeeper, who had tried her best, but had been too worried about her job to do more than bake him his favorite cookies and make sure he got to school on time.

He flushed with shame when he remembered stealing money out of his father's room so that he could buy school supplies or for when he went to the mall with his friends. He'd have asked instead of just taking it, but he'd already known what the answer would be.

Or he could talk about Cooper, the big brother that he'd idolized and wanted to be just like, right up until the day that he'd left for California without saying goodbye when Blaine was nine.

Maybe someday he'd feel ready to tell those stories. Maybe.


	4. Chapter 4

Later that day, Blaine had just emailed off an a cappella arrangement to a new client recommended to him by his co-worker when he heard a frantic knock at the door. Since unexpected visitors at 9 p.m. were rare, he approached the door cautiously and looked through the peephole.

On the other side of the door stood Kurt, looking disheveled and antsy as he paced back-and-forth in the hallway.

Worried that something had gone wrong with Kurt's father, Blaine yanked the door open. "Kurt, what—"

"I got it."

The grin on Kurt's face told Blaine that whatever the "it" was, it was good news. He stood aside so that Kurt could enter and he watched in amusement as Kurt kicked off his shoes and then literally skipped inside in his stocking feet, dropping his bag on the floor before grabbing Blaine by the waist and waltzing him around the room.

"I got it. I got it. I got it," Kurt sang as they danced. "You are looking at the new lead in the Orpheus Theater's new production of _The Who's Tommy_! It's off-Broadway — way, way off — and just for a month-long run starting in July, but it's the lead!" Kurt stopped their momentum and looked down at Blaine as a stunned look crossed his face. "The lead."

After several minutes of excited celebration, Kurt finally calmed down enough to tell Blaine that he'd received the call while he was at work a few hours earlier and had been so floored by the news that he hadn't told anyone. He'd simply finished out his shift in a daze and gone directly to Blaine's apartment.

While Blaine went to open some wine for a congratulatory toast (he wondered for a second if he should run out and get champagne instead), Kurt called his dad and told him the good news.

Not wanting to barge in on the happy father/son moment, Blaine stayed in the kitchen straightening up some papers that were sitting on the counter and putting crackers and cheese on a plate to go with the wine while he tried not to eavesdrop. It was really hard though, not only because of the small size of his apartment, but also because part of him was fascinated by the dynamic that seemed to exist between Kurt and his father. He could only hear Kurt's side of the conversation, but it was obvious that his father was over-the-moon about the news and was asking questions about the show. He was proud and wanted to hear every last detail.

It was a familial dynamic that Blaine was completely unfamiliar with.

He heard Kurt say his goodbyes, so he picked up the tray of food and wine and slipped out into the living room. He set everything down on the table in front of the couch and picked up the glasses, handing one to Kurt and holding the other one up high to toast.

"To Kurt. You're going to be the best Tommy anyone has ever seen. Next stop, Broadway!" They clinked glasses and each took a sip. "Just don't forget me when you're famous, okay?"

"Never. You're pretty unforgettable, you know."

They gazed at each other in silence for a moment and then Blaine reached out to pull the glass from Kurt's hand, setting it, along with his own, down on the nearby table. He took a few steps forward and slid an arm around Kurt's back, pulling him closer as if they were going to dance. Slowly, he dipped his head until their lips met.

The kiss began soft and tender and Kurt's hand drifted up Blaine's body until it was pressed against his cheek, not holding him, but gently directing him into the perfect angle. Blaine's blood was racing and every nerve in his body was pulsing in time, as if they were all singing along to a rousing chorus of "Yes, finally, yes." He could feel Kurt warm against him and smiled into the kiss.

Kurt pulled back, panting a little. "What? Why are you smiling?"

"I've got the most stunning man in the world in my arms. What's not to smile about?" Blaine asked, trailing a finger along Kurt's back.

Kurt scrunched up his nose and took a step back so that he could collapse gracefully onto the couch. "I'm in such a good mood that I'm not even going to bother calling bullshit on that one."

Blaine sat down too, one leg bent up onto the cushion so that he was facing Kurt. "Absolutely no bullshit. That's how I see things and you're not allowed to argue with me or you'll hurt my feelings."

That earned him another kiss. "The sacrifices I make to keep your fragile psyche intact."

Blaine felt Kurt's mouth open beneath his and he swept his tongue in. He teased and savored each newly discovered place and then retreated just a bit to suck on Kurt's lower lip, working it back and forth between his own. Kurt's answering groan encouraged him and he grasped the now slightly swollen lip between his teeth and tugged lightly before returning to sweep his tongue inside again.

Kurt leaned back slowly until his head was laying on the arm rest and Blaine followed him down, bringing his legs underneath him and crawling up until he was straddling Kurt's body, never once breaking the kiss.

The temperature in the room seemed to skyrocket as their bodies came together, their chests pressing against one another until Blaine could feel the rhythm of Kurt's heart beating. The sound of heavy breathing and rustling cloth filled the room, punctuated from time-to-time by a moan or a sharply inhaled breath.

When Kurt's hand drifted across the sensitive skin of his ribs, Blaine's hips jerked, bringing their growing erections together. Though the contact was slight and through several layers of clothing, they both startled as if hit by an electric shock.

Their mouths finally separated and they lay there, panting. Kurt's eyes searched Blaine's face, his brow furrowed as if puzzling through something in his mind. Then, his face softened and he nodded, almost to himself, and lifted his head up to capture Blaine's mouth again. He kept raising up until they were once again sitting and Blaine felt the warmth of his hands as they settled on his shoulders. Kurt slid his arms around Blaine's neck, splaying his hands out on his back to pull him in tight.

Then, Kurt was gone. Blaine opened his eyes and blinked to find Kurt standing beside him, one hand held out invitingly. Blaine took it and they walked together towards the bedroom. Once there, Kurt paused as if unsure of what to do next, so Blaine swung him around and gently pressed him against the wall as he kissed his way down his neck.

He stripped Kurt's sweater off and then inched his hand down Kurt's shirt, undoing each button slowly. When he reached the last button, he slid his hands back up to the collar and pushed it off Kurt's shoulders, crooking an amused eyebrow at the exposed undershirt. "It's a good thing it isn't winter or I might forget what I was doing before I managed to get you naked."

"Oh, don't worry, I'd remind you."

Blaine yanked the undershirt over Kurt's head and leaned back to take an appreciative look at the area he'd uncovered. Kurt wasn't cooperating, though, more interested getting Blaine's own shirt off than being the object of admiration.

They dropped the garments onto a nearby chair and Blaine reached out to undo Kurt's belt, pulling on the end slowly and smiling wickedly at the soft sound it made as it slid free of each belt loop. When the belt was free, Blaine dropped to his knees and began undoing Kurt's pants, kissing his stomach as he worked, loving the feeling of the muscles there tensing and contracting beneath his lips. He pulled the pants down toward Kurt's ankles and immediately began inching the waistband of his underwear down too, unable to resist kissing the tip of his cock as it slipped free.

Kurt jerked back and almost stumbled in his haste to kick his remaining clothing off. He finally got free and Blaine took a second to pick up his pants and put them on the chair beside their shirts, knowing that a Kurt with wrinkled clothes would be a cranky Kurt. When he turned back, Kurt had managed to remove his socks as well and was standing against the wall, naked.

Oh god.

Blaine didn't care how eager Kurt was or how impatient his own throbbing body was to pick up where they'd left off, he had to stop and look Kurt over inch-by-glorious-inch. He was all long lines and lean muscle, a body that Michelangelo definitely would have immortalized in perfect white marble if only given the opportunity.

Kurt instead of David.

His skin was pale everywhere and the contrast of Blaine's hand against his hip was striking. Blaine made a mental note to be extra gentle so that he didn't accidentally bruise or mark him. His chest was mostly smooth, with just a light dusting of hair forming a perfect happy trail down his stomach.

Blaine swept his hand across the outside of Kurt's hip to his upper thigh, his eyes drifting down over the thicker hair on his well-developed calves to his bare feet and the slightly crooked toe that he'd confessed had been broken in dance class and never healed correctly.

Last and certainly not least, Blaine focused his attention of Kurt's cock, which was semi-hard and growing by the second. Slightly reddened and longer than Blaine's, it was a beautiful sight to behold and he couldn't wait to get to learn every inch of it. He reached out a hand and grasped it gently, squeezing as he swept from root to tip. "Have I mentioned today that you're really hot? Surface of the sun, black leather seats on an August afternoon, ghost chili pepper hot?"

Kurt's breath hitched as Blaine's other hand slid down to cup his balls. "No, but I was going to let it slide today, given what you're about to do. You are going to do what I think you're going to do, right?"

Blaine answered with his mouth, but not his voice.

Within seconds he had Kurt gasping, hands fluttering wildly until they found a home clutching Blaine's hair. He leaned against the wall and Blaine heard a slight thud as his head fell back in abandon.

"Your mouth. God, Brandon, your mouth."

Kurt's hips began to undulate slightly beneath Blaine's hands, so he rose up on his knees, placing his forehead on Kurt's lower stomach and relaxing his throat, letting Kurt's movements dictate how deep he went. Kurt's fingers tightened and he rolled his hips slowly, pressing further in each time.

Lost in the moment, Blaine didn't realize when Kurt stopped moving, only noticing when the pressure on his head became a tug. He opened his eyes as the rest of his senses kicked back in.

"Stop...stop." Kurt's voice was tight and reluctant. "Not here...don't want to...need more."

Blaine let Kurt's now rock hard cock slip slowly from his lips and gave it a last wistful look as he rose to his feet. He hummed happily when Kurt pulled him in for a hard, punishing kiss. The broke apart and then raced across the room to the bed. Blaine got there first and tossed the comforter and top sheet aside before launching himself backwards to fall on the mattress, arms raised in victory. He felt more lighthearted than he had in months and wanted it to never end.

Kurt shook his head with an indulgent laugh and, with a magic touch that could only come from hours of dressing and undressing mannequins, managed to undo Blaine's pants and sweep them, along with his underwear, off in one clean movement.

As he tossed them in the general direction of the chair, Blaine's shock at suddenly being naked gave way to a giggle. "Kurt, you're the pants whisperer. All clothes obey your every whim. Able to disrobe a man in a single glance. Can you do that thing with the tablecloth and the dish—"

Kurt jumped on top of Blaine, forcing the air partly out of his lungs. "Do you want to make jokes all night or...?"

"Or. Definitely or."

Kurt looked up to the ceiling and scrunched his mouth to one side as if considering if Blaine's response was good enough. Blaine bucked his hips up into him, hoping to speed things along. A wide smile broke out on Kurt's face. "I was hoping you'd say that."

With a shimmy that reminded Blaine of the way he danced, Kurt worked his way back and to the side, off of Blaine's body, coming to kneel by his hips. He trailed a soft fingertip around the base of Blaine's cock and lower, pausing to rub lightly along his perineum.

"Your hands are so soft. What kind of moisturizer do you use?" Blaine winced. Well, that was sexy. His mouth was seriously not attached to his brain any longer; it was the only explanation.

Kurt's finger stopped moving. "Seriously? This is the question you want to be asking right now?"

"No, no. Forget I said anything. Please continue."

"Thank you. Now, where was I? Oh, yes." Kurt stroked his finger back upwards, instantly bringing Blaine back to full hardness.

Blaine took a deep breath and held it as the single fingertip was joined by others, the teasing touch becoming a confident hold, and Kurt leaned forward to take him in his mouth. There was probably some poetic description of how it felt to be inside of Kurt like that, some combination of words that could convey the heat and the pleasure. Those verses existed somewhere in the universe, but the only thought Blaine's mind could form at that moment was ohmygodohmygodohmygod.

He twisted his hands into the sheet underneath him, legs twitching restlessly as he tried to think about photos of sad-eyed pound puppies with a Sarah McLachlan soundtrack or naked boobs, anything to keep from having the whole encounter end embarrassingly fast.

He was quickly approaching the point when he'd have to make a decision to have Kurt stop or risk falling over the edge of the cliff when the maddening suction stopped and Kurt gave him a few soft licks that were probably meant to be soothing, but just ended up putting him that much closer to coming. He opened his eyes to find Kurt gazing at him with flushed cheeks.

"What do you want?" Kurt asked, one hand lazily pumping at Blaine's cock, the other palming his own.

Blaine didn't even have to consider. He twisted towards the nightstand and fumbled around in the shallow drawer before coming away with a small bottle of lube and a condom. He pressed them into Kurt's hand and then rolled over on his stomach, burying his head in the pillow, the cool fabric soothing against his overheated skin.

He lay there with every muscle tensed in anticipation of where the first touch would come from, but seconds passed and there was only still silence in the room. He could sense Kurt's hesitation. He lifted his face from the pillow. "Do you want to do something else? Or do you want me to get myself ready? Because I can-"

The words died in his throat as wet lips pressed against the base of his spine. Next came two hands, rubbing and massaging along the curve of his hips over to the top of his cheeks, kneading them with just the right amount of pressure to kick everything back up into high gear. The hands disappeared and he heard the definitive sound of the lube bottle clicking open.

A slick finger touched the top of his crack and slid down slowly to gently encircle his hole, pressing enough to make him feel the pressure, but not enough to be granted entry. It continued on its way and reached his balls where it gave a tiny tickle, causing Blaine to squirm further down into the mattress.

The finger returned back up to his hole and circled again, this time breaching him slightly. He gasped at the sensation, barely even able to remember the last time someone had been inside of him. That was fine with him. He wanted to forget that there had ever been anyone before Kurt.

Kurt worked deeper and deeper, gently coaxing his out-of-practice muscles to give way. He was patient, though, and Blaine knew that he could sense the moment he was ready for more. The solo finger was joined by a second and soon a third and Blaine luxuriated in the amazing fullness that bordered on pain.

Finally, he was ready. "Now."

Kurt slipped his fingers free and there was a crinkle of the condom wrapper as Blaine turned over onto his side, pulling one leg up perpendicular to his body and leaning on it, opening himself up. He loved being taken from behind, but also needed to be able to see Kurt's face at that moment.

Kurt seemed to know what he wanted, because he set his hands on Blaine's hips and rose up on his knees, moving forward until the tip of his cock bumped up against the crease where Blaine's thigh met his body. Blaine twisted a little bit more towards Kurt and reached out to rub his thigh encouragingly. They locked eyes and Kurt thrust forward.

Feeling Kurt enter him was overwhelming and Blaine fought against his instinct to close his eyes. Watching the expressions flit across Kurt's face as he pressed deeper was amazing and he didn't want to miss a moment.

Kurt had done an excellent job of prepping him, so Blaine felt only pleasure as the head of Kurt's cock pushed past the mild resistance of the pucker. There was tension in Kurt's body as he pressed forward slowly, muscles primed to stop at any moment if Blaine asked. No such request came, though, and soon Kurt was laying flush up against him, their balls pressed tightly up against each other.

Kurt drew in a shuddering breath. "Would I sound too much like a porno if I told you that your ass is amazing? 'Cause that would be really embarrassing and highly unoriginal, but I just really need to say it."

"Since I was about to say the same thing about your cock I think we can just call it even." Blaine gasped as Kurt sunk within him impossibly deeper. "Move, Kurt. I need you to move."

He did, pulling back until the widest part of his cock head stretched the rim of Blaine's hole. Blaine could see the wonder on Kurt's face as the muscle contracted around him.

They set forth in an elegant, if slightly sweaty, dance; Kurt swaying forward and back in a rhythm guaranteed to please and Blaine moving his hips at just the right moments. After several minutes, the speed of Kurt's hips increased and Blaine could hear the change in his breathing as he raced towards his orgasm.

Determined to be right there with him, Blaine leaned back off of his propped leg and extended it straight up, changing the angle of Kurt's thrusts until he was moaning with pleasure. Kurt sat up taller and used the additional height as leverage to push in harder and faster, turning his head to kiss Blaine's calf absently as he worked into him.

Blaine reached down and took hold of his own cock, squeezing and rubbing as he brought himself up to the edge. "Oh my god, right there. Don't stop. I'm gonna come. Don't stop don't don't-"

His words were lost as he exploded, his hips bucking and his toes curling as the pleasure overwhelmed him. He floated along in ecstasy for a minute, noting only vaguely that Kurt took only two more thrusts before coming himself and collapsing on top of Blaine as if all the bones had been removed from his body.

They lay in rasping, panting silence for a few minutes as they both recovered. Then, Kurt rolled off to the side, disposing of the condom before laying back down beside Blaine. "That was— you were amazing. So much better than a porno."

"Ha! Porn companies wished their films were that hot."

"You really think so? It was good?"

Blaine raised up on one elbow. "Are you kidding? Any better and the top of my head would have blown off."

"Good. Good. Because, um, that's kind of the first time I've done that. Topped, I mean."

Blaine just stared at him, astonished. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to kill the mood. Plus, I really didn't want you to change your mind," Kurt added sheepishly.

"No chance of that." Blaine rolled onto his side facing Kurt and laid his head on his folded up arm. "How is it possible that you've never done it before? Do you prefer to bottom? Because next time we can switch it up, I promise."

Kurt avoided his eyes, tracing patterns over his chest instead. "I've always wanted to, but the guys I dated were always very specific about what they wanted from me. I guess I had a type, before you."

"Well, the joke's on them then, because god, did they miss out. I'm in big trouble, though."

Kurt finally met his eyes. "Why?"

"Because if that was your first attempt, I'm not sure I'll survive once you get some experience under your belt."

Kurt smiled smugly. "I always was an overachiever." He leaned forward to place a kiss where his fingers had just been, then stopped and reared his head back. "Wait…did you really just compare me to a chili pepper?"

=^..^=

Blaine loved his apartment. It was small, but well cared for and quiet and, best of all, didn't cost two arms and two legs like every other place he'd looked at when he'd first arrived in the city. It wasn't too far from the subway and was only two blocks from a little neighborhood park. He loved the quaint molding, the exposed brick wall, and the clichéd fire escape outside the living room window.

What he didn't love was the fact that it had no elevator and he lived on the fourth floor.

He knew he shouldn't complain — he was a young guy after all and climbing the four flights was about the only cardio he got on a daily basis — but having a walk-up was especially annoying on those days when he'd bought something heavy or bulky. Getting the chair he'd found at a local thrift shop up all those stairs had nearly killed him.

Because of that personal experience, he felt a twinge of sympathy when he entered the lobby one afternoon to find a stack of boxes by the door, obviously waiting for some new tenant. Moving day with no elevator just plain sucked.

He'd just entered the stairwell when he heard a man's voice behind him call out and ask him to hold the door. He paused and reached a foot out to prop the door open as he waited for the guy to catch up. The new arrival was about his age and tall — taller even than Kurt — and slim with sharp features. Blaine smiled pleasantly in a polite, but distant neighborly way and moved to start up the stairs when a hand on his arm stopped him.

"Thanks. You're a life-saver," the guy said, his smile oily and a little too practiced, like that of a used car salesman. "I'm Sebastian Smythe."

Sebastian held out a hand and Blaine shook it. He told himself that it was just his imagination that Sebastian's thumb seemed to caress his lightly before their hands separated. "Brandon McCartney. And all I did was hold the door. Hardly a lifesaving moment."

"Maybe not the door bit, but getting such a close-up look at those miraculous eyes is certainly doing my heart some good. If we make this a regular thing, I think we'll make my doctor a very happy man."

Blaine shifted uncomfortably as Sebastian's eyes raked over his body. His silence seemed to be taken as an encouragement.

"Please tell me you live here, because I'm moving into this bed bug buffet and I could really use a pick-me-up right about now."

A prickle of indignation ran up Blaine's neck at the insult to his home. "I'm up on four. Do you need any help with those?" He gestured to the boxes, unable to find it within himself to be rude despite the other man's attitude.

Sebastian looked around in confusion. "What, with those? No, I don't haul boxes. I pay people for that. They're probably heading down from their first trip right now. Or they'd better be, if they don't want me to start docking their pay."

Blaine wondered fleetingly what a guy like that was doing living in a building without an elevator. Just then, he heard the sound of someone thundering down the stairs. Two men came around the corner, their eyes widening when they saw Sebastian glaring at them. They scampered down the remaining steps and immediately picked up two boxes each before turning and heading back up. Sebastian shook his head, rolled his eyes, and shrugged as if to say "You can't get good help these days."

Blaine followed the men up and Sebastian tagged along at his side, still flirting and practically molesting Blaine with his eyes.

"I'm subletting 302," Sebastian drawled as they rounded the first landing, his shoulder bumping up against Blaine's a little too frequently to be by accident. "It's just short-term while my actual apartment is being renovated. I was dreading the whole experience — I haven't lived below 59th since I moved to New York — but things are definitely looking up."

The not-so-subtle diss on his neighborhood wasn't lost on Blaine, but he just smiled blandly as they hit the landing for the third floor.

"Well, this is my stop." Sebastian stopped with his hand on the doorknob and crooked an eyebrow at Blaine. "You should come by for some wine later. I have an excellent Cab that I've been saving for a special occasion. I could pop it open and we could drink a toast to new…friends."

"Sorry, I've got plans with my boyfriend tonight." Blaine made sure to emphasize the word "boyfriend".

"That's okay. You can drop in on your way back. I don't mind if the boyfriend warms you up first."

Blaine laughed as if Sebastian had been kidding (which he was pretty sure he hadn't been) and wished him good luck with his unpacking before continuing up the stairs. Sebastian came on a little (okay, a lot) strong, but Blaine rarely saw any of this neighbors due to the unusual hours he kept, so they might not even see each other again before he moved out.

=^..^=

Sebastian seemed to be everywhere.

If Blaine didn't know better, he'd have thought that Sebastian had planted some kind of tracking device on him. Every time he picked up his mail or came home from work Sebastian seemed to be there, lurking. He saw him at the local bodega, the drugstore on the corner, and the pizza place down the street. He saw him more than once most days (seriously, did the guy not have a job or anything?) and Sebastian never missed an opportunity to flirt heavily. He was always stepping in close and crowding him, but Blaine chalked it up to the fact that Sebastian had lived in Europe for a while when he was younger — a fact that he felt the need to mention frequently — and European's tended to have a different concept of personal space.

It was two weeks before Kurt finally met him. Blaine had told Kurt about his new downstairs neighbor, but he'd left out a few details (like how forthcoming he was in his interest in Blaine), not because he was trying to hide anything, but because he honestly didn't think such details mattered. It didn't matter what Sebastian wanted. Blaine was with Kurt and that was that.

Sebastian and Kurt hated each other on sight.

It was a Saturday morning and Kurt and Blaine had just gotten their coffee and morning pastries at French Press after a later start than usual when Blaine heard his name called. Sebastian walked over and set a hand on Blaine's arm as he leaned in close to say something, ostensibly so that he could be heard over the din of the late-morning rush.

Blaine could feel Kurt stiffen beside him and marveled that Sebastian seemed unaffected by the glare he was being subjected to. Such a glare had brought down many a better man.

"Sebastian, this is my boyfriend, Kurt. Kurt, Sebastian's the new neighbor I mentioned."

Kurt eyed Sebastian with a disdain he normally reserved for people who still wore parachute pants or head-to-toe denim.

"Charmed." Despite what he said, Kurt looked anything but.

Blaine would have felt bad for Sebastian, except he seemed to have the same instant negative reaction to Kurt.

"Kurt. Hmmm…you're not quite what I was expecting."

Kurt's right eyebrow drifted upwards. "No?" he asked his tone indicating that he couldn't care less about the answer.

"From the way Blaine talked about you, I was picturing someone more…well…more." Sebastian looked away from Kurt dismissively, focusing all his attention on Blaine. "So is this your guys' place, huh? It's quaint. Not quite what I'm used to from when I lived in Paris. It's a little too… bourgeois." He glanced back to Kurt and an almost imperceptible smirk appeared at the corner of his lips. "I guess there's no accounting for taste, though."

"No, there isn't," Kurt said pointedly as he eyed the popped collar on Sebastian's yellow polo shirt.

Sebastian took a step closer to Blaine and dropped his voice. "I'm thinking about heading over to Rim Shot later tonight. They've got an amazing band playing. Want to join me?" He rolled his eyes at Blaine's reluctant expression. "You too, of course, Kurt. They don't usually cater to the cross-dressing twink market, but I know the bouncer, so I'm sure I can get him to let you in."

Kurt casually reached down to tug on the hem of his intricately laced corset-style vest and shot Sebastian a smile laced with just a touch of viciousness. "I think that place was mentioned in the Village Voice article last month. Something about how it was the latest gay club to start going downhill after it was recently taken over by Eurotrash. Hmmm…" he patted a finger absently against his chin, "I don't remember the details."

Blaine swallowed a laugh. He loved it when Kurt let his bitchy side out to play. "Sorry Sebastian, we have plans tonight. Maybe next time."

Sebastian looked frustrated at his rejection and Blaine could have sworn that he saw something calculated flash in his eyes before the oily, charming mask slid back into place. "I've got a table in the back. You can at least join me for coffee. It's a two-seater, but we can get cozy."

Blaine could sense that sitting with Sebastian was about the last thing that Kurt wanted to do, but his mind went blank as he tried to think of an excuse. Thankfully, Kurt was having no such problem.

"Sorry, it's our anniversary and we just came over for some fortifying caffeine." The lie dripped smoothly off Kurt's tongue. "We've got our second wind now, though, so we're going to head back to…well…you know." Blaine looked at Kurt with wonder. How in the world did he fake a blush like that?

Kurt crooked an elbow and Blaine slid his arm into it happily. They waved goodbye to Sebastian, who seemed to have been rendered speechless for the first time since Blaine had met him, and strolled out the door.

"Anniversary?" Blaine asked out the side of his mouth as soon as they hit the sidewalk.

Kurt looked very pleased with himself. "It's been a month and a half since we met. I think that's worth celebrating, don't you?"

"Absolutely."

Through the following silence, Blaine could practically hear Kurt grind his teeth.

"I'm sorry I lied, but that Sebastian guy really bugs me," he finally bit out. "Something's off about him."

"Nah, he's just new to the neighborhood," Blaine protested, "and I kind of get the feeling he doesn't have many friends."

Kurt snorted. "Gee, I wonder why?"

"Well, it's not like I go out of my way to hang out with him or anything, but I'm not against being friendly when we pick up our mail."

"The mail's not all he wants to pick up," Kurt grumbled under his breath.

Blaine fought the heat that was climbing the sides of his neck. He was aware of Sebastian's advances, but he'd made it clear he had a boyfriend and nothing was going to happen, so if Sebastian wanted to waste his time on someone who wasn't available, that was up to him. Besides, as much as he was ashamed to admit it, he kind of liked the attention. He'd spent too much time alone in the past two years and now having two gorgeous guys express interest in him, even if he only wanted one of them back, was really nice.

It was all harmless.


	5. Chapter 5

Blaine couldn't believe how quickly Kurt was becoming the center of his life. He could feel himself opening up and showing the more outgoing side he'd found at boarding school. It was like he'd been a prisoner chained up in a dungeon and was now free and experiencing life again.

He hadn't said anything to Kurt about his growing feelings, but he was pretty sure they were right there on his face for everyone to see. He'd been told more than once when he was younger that he was transparently expressive, which had been one reason why he'd developed the charming, confident mask he'd worn in Columbus and brought with him to New York. That mask no longer existed, though, having been smashed to pieces by the force of nature that was Kurt Hummel.

Yeah, all-in-all he was pretty sure his heart-eyes could be seen from space.

As his happiness grew, so did his willingness to indulge in the goofy, nerdy side of himself. He'd confessed his up-until-then secret love of superheroes to Kurt one evening as they watched the latest Marvel movie. When Kurt had responded that he too liked the movies, Blaine could see that he didn't really quite get it, so he'd gone into his room and returned with the Robert Downey, Jr. and Joss Whedon autographed Ironman helmet he'd gotten off of eBay. Kurt had made an astonished "ohhh" face and then sheepishly confessed that he'd had a shrine to Kate and Pippa Middleton in his bedroom in high school.

After that, Blaine decided to let his dorky flag fly. He was a little worried at first that telling Kurt of his unusually strong love for the songs of musical divas, his secret longing to be James Bond, and his growing obsession with collecting bow ties (which he actually blamed Kurt for, at least in part, because he was such an enabler) in such a short amount of time would make Kurt question if he'd ever matured out of being a teenager, but Kurt had matched him quirk-for-quirk.

It wasn't just the silly stuff that Blaine opened up about, though. He also started to let Kurt see the damaged sides of himself. He invited Kurt to go to the gym with him one day and showed him how he'd learned to box in an attempt to feel some control in his life. They commiserated about childhood traumas and teenage disappointments. They shared their adult fears and insecurities. They talked about hopes for the future.

The rehearsals for _Tommy_ went from late morning to early evening, so they were still able to meet for their normal coffee dates, though they had to do some rearranging of the rest of their plans. Kurt had greatly reduced his hours at the clothing store in order to free up the time needed for the musical, so he had many nights free and spent most of them with Blaine, either at one of their apartments or sitting in the audience at the club on nights that Blaine worked.

Blaine was surprised that Kurt wanted to come to the club so often, imagining that after so many hours in rehearsal he'd be anxious to be anywhere except in another theater, but Kurt said he loved being surrounded by all the music and dancing knowing that he could just sit back and enjoy.

The stress that Kurt had been feeling over his father's health was lighter as of late. He'd spoken with his dad after the day in the park and gotten him to confess that, while his last doctor visit hadn't been as good as he'd been hoping for, he was in no immediate danger. The doctor wanted him to do some more tests, but there was no cause for concern. Kurt had chastened him for keeping information from him and had barely been talked out of going home for the tests.

In between rehearsals, spending time with Blaine, and talking with his father almost nightly to check on him, Kurt didn't have much time for anything else. He told Blaine he was feeling slightly guilty over how he'd been neglecting his other friends since he and Blaine had starting dating, but that they all understood, for the most part. Blaine knew he had several close friends in town, including at least two that he'd known since high school, but he'd only met one girl who Kurt worked with and a couple whom he'd met in college. Kurt didn't seem to be in a hurry to introduce him to the others and Blaine wasn't about to push. He was happy with the way things were and each new person he met made him feel like he was playing another round of "will they recognize me" Russian Roulette.

It was better that it remain just the two of them, at least for the time being.

=^..^=

Kurt was at an extra-long rehearsal that wouldn't let out for another two hours, so with nothing better to do, Blaine flopped down on the couch and grabbed the remote to search for something on TV. Infomercial, ancient syndicated sitcom that hadn't been funny the first time around, trashy talk show— ugh, late afternoon television was so bad. He pushed the button a few more times, determined to find an acceptable distraction. _Judge Judy_, talking heads arguing about the latest political scandal, financial scandal news show…wait.

His mind was screaming "no, no, no", but Blaine couldn't seem to make his finger listen. He pressed the down channel button, returning the TV to CNN, where the banner across the bottom of the screen burned itself into his brain.

_Winter comes to the Heartland: The Richard Anderson Scandal_

Like a commuter rubbernecking as they passed an accident on the highway, Blaine couldn't look away. The show began with the narrator solemnly giving the background on Winterland and Richard Anderson's rise in the financial world. Over the next 30 minutes, it went into detail about the collapse of the Winterland Ponzi scheme and the discovery of the extent fraud before covering Richard's arrest, trial, and subsequent disappearance. Law enforcement officials, analysts, former co-workers, and even a couple of Richard's old friends appeared to give their theories on where he might have escaped to. They agreed on very little except that they were sure it was somewhere without an extradition policy.

Blaine watched with bated breath, but thankfully the show focused mainly on his father. The family was barely mentioned, except to say that they'd been cleared of any involvement and the only photo that featured Blaine showed him only from the back.

The show was an unwelcome reminder of his previous life, but it didn't contain any shocking revelations or new information, so Blaine counted himself lucky. He was about to turn the TV off, when the program returned from commercial break, this time turning its focus on the victims. Blaine was ashamed to admit it, but he'd avoided learning too much about the destruction his father had caused. He knew the big things, of course — the astronomical amount of money lost, the number of investors who'd been affected — but he'd tried not to learn any of the personal stories. Dealing with his own family had been almost more than he could handle.

But now there they were— real live people, telling their stories — and he couldn't look away. For half an hour, he sat and listened to the accounts of lives ruined, told by people whose voices dripped with hatred for his father as they cursed the Anderson name.

As the end credits began to role, Blaine finally reached over and turned the TV off, the angry, condemning words echoing in his ears. He looked at the clock, willing the time to move faster. He and Kurt were planning on going to a nightclub that evening and suddenly he couldn't wait to lose himself in the music and hopefully a large quantity of alcohol.

=^..^=

The room was spinning and swirling around him in time with the strobe light that pulsed above the nearby dance floor.

It was awesome.

Blaine drained the last drop from his microbrew beer bottle and set it back on the bar with a clunk. God, it was so amazing that people made beer. Not big corporations like Budweiser (oh, the Clydesdales were so amazing. So majestic and proud and tall and…horse-like. Those commercials always made him cry), but people, with their family recipes and farm grown hops. He wanted to be a microbrewer. Maybe he'd buy a small brewery and set up an adjoining bar where they'd serve the best food alongside his beer. He'd sing and entertain and teach people how to make their own beer and maybe Kurt would come along and help. That would be so amazing.

He felt Kurt come up beside him and he leaned in close to tell him his idea. "Brew with me."

"Excuse me?" Kurt said with a laugh, his hand coming up to rub Blaine's back. He loved when Kurt did that. It always made him feel so warm and safe.

"I'm gonna buy a brewery and make beer and sing and entertain people and it'll be awesome. Come brew with me."

"What does buying a brewery have to do with singing?"

Poor Kurt, he just didn't have a mind for business. "We'll sell more beer if we keep the crowds entertained," Blaine said with just a hint of "duh" in his voice. "I wonder if hops grow better if you sing to them? You know, like when you talk to plants? We should experiment with that. I wonder what kind of music they like best? I bet it's country." He felt a little sad at the thought. "Oh well, I can make that work."

"So we're going to be farmers, too?"

"Mmm. We'll be the first all-singing, all-dancing farmer-brewers. We'll be famous and they'll eventually write a Broadway musical about us. Which you can star in."

"Okaaay." Kurt glanced at the bar, eyeing Blaine's empty bottle. "How many of these—"

"Kurt! I love this song." Blaine began to boogie away as the new music filled the room. "Come dance with me."

"I was just going to order a drink…" Kurt was walking with Blaine, but glancing back towards the bartender, who was just finishing up with his last customer.

Blaine reached the edge of the dance floor and began to move his hips back-and-forth, glancing back over his shoulder at Kurt, trying to pull him in by employing industrial strength puppy dog eyes and a come hither pout.

"Fine," Kurt sighed, sidling up to Blaine as he began to shimmy in the by-now-familiar way that Blaine found incredibly irresistible.

Blaine wasn't drunk. Nope, not at all. He'd only had one…two beers. Three at the most. He wasn't drunk, but he was pleasantly relaxed and just buzzed enough to be able to push his troubles to the far corner of his mind. Yes, four beers was exactly the perfect amount to drink if he just wanted to have fun without embarrassing himself.

He pulled Kurt closer as they got swallowed up by the crowd. Dancing was his favorite. Wait, no Kurt was his favorite. Wait, no dancing with Kurt was his favorite.

He turned his head and snuggled his face into the warm spot where Kurt's neck met his shoulder. Kurt was the perfect height for this. Kurt was perfect. Kurt—

Blaine pulled back as he felt a sharp tug on his chest. One of his chest hairs that had been poking through the open neck of his shirt had been caught in one of the many zippers on Kurt's jacket. Kurt's clothes were not perfect. They were perfect looking, but they seemed to have an evil agenda all their own of thwarting Blaine's amorous attentions. Thwarting. That was an amazing word. He should use that more often. Thwarting.

He shook his head, losing his balance for just a second before righting himself and returning to glare at the offending zipper again. All of the pins and buttons and snaps and layers of Kurt's clothes were a constant frustration when all Blaine wanted to do was get close to Kurt as quickly as possible. He almost wished that Kurt would dress more simply, with more pull-straight-over-the-top-of-the-head type of items, but if he did that, he wouldn't look like Kurt and that would make Blaine sad.

Someone bumped into Kurt from the side, jostling them and separating them a bit. Blaine threw his arms around Kurt's back in response and hugged him closer, hands splayed out to pull him in as close as humanly possible. "Please never not look like you. No matter how much quicker the sex would be. Promise."

Kurt exhaled against his ear, all warm and hot, and a familiar ache took up residence deep in the pit of Blaine's stomach.

"You are soooo drunk."

"Nahhh. I've only had five beers. That's nothing. And it was hours ago. Hours and hours. Besides, I never get drunk. It isn't becoming of a gentleman. My father always…" He stopped himself, not wanting to finish that thought, let alone speak it out loud.

Suddenly, the flashing lights of the dance floor weren't fun and distracting, they were just overly bright and blinding. The surge of the crowd wasn't exciting, it was stifling, the heat pressing in on Blaine until he couldn't breathe.

"Brandon?" Kurt asked, his face the picture of concern. "Are you alright?"

"Can we go?"

Kurt nodded swiftly and within minutes they were out on the sidewalk, the cool night air washing over Blaine's hot cheeks, sweeping away the heavy thoughts for the moment. Taxis were waiting to take away the club's departing customers, so they got in line. While they waited, Blaine's good humor returned and he began to eye a No Parking sign that was posted on a nearby pole, thinking it was just the right height that he might be able to jump over it.

He was just about to make his move when Kurt stopped him.

"No, no, no," Kurt laughed as he wrapped an arm around Blaine's waist. "I've seen way too many youtube videos where some guy gets emasculated by doing that and I happen to be very attached to that part of your anatomy."

"Yeah, you are," Blaine leered playfully, swaying a bit in Kurt's arms. "I wish you were attached to it right now, in fact."

Kurt pressed his lips together and smiled with tolerant amusement. "Why, you old romantic, you."

Fifteen minutes later, Blaine enthusiastically waved goodbye to the cab driver while Kurt waited for him patiently. They slowly made the climb to Blaine's apartment and Kurt unlocked the door. Blaine's smile grew as Kurt pressed hands to his shoulders and walked him backwards into his bedroom. His knees hit the mattress and he collapsed down onto it, his arms outstretched, waiting for Kurt to join him. He couldn't contain his moan of disappointment when Kurt shot him an "are you kidding?" look and turned towards the bathroom.

Blaine could hear the sounds of Kurt getting ready for bed — and not the good, sexy kind of getting ready — so he got rid of his shoes and stripped off his jeans and shirt. He could already feel himself sobering up. Why was that a thing that was happening?

He was burrowed completely down under the covers when he felt Kurt slip in beside him.

"Brandon, you've been kind of off all night," Kurt said softly, a hand coming to rest on Blaine's covered head. "Is something wrong?"

Brandon. Brandon. Brandon. The sound of his fake name echoed in Blaine's ears until he couldn't take it anymore. He broke.

"My name's not Brandon."

He felt Kurt tense up beside him. "What?"

Blaine sat up, pulling the blanket with him around him like a burrito, leaving only his face exposed to the light. "I lied to you. My name's not Brandon. It's Blaine."

Everything came spilling out once the floodgates were opened. He told Kurt about his father, the trial, and his decision to start a new life in New York. He talked about growing up in his stifling family with an intolerant father and a mentally absent mother. He talked and he talked, noticing only after the fact that Kurt had pulled him into his arms at some point, his chin resting on Blaine's shoulder.

Finally, everything was out in the open and Blaine felt fatigue overtake every muscle in his body. "Things will be going well. I'll be finally feeling like everything will be okay, and then something will happen, some reminder that brings me back to earth. Sometimes I feel like I should just stand up and apologize to everyone I see, like I'm a bad person just through association."

Kurt, who'd been listening quietly up until that point, tightened his hand on Blaine's back and shook his head violently. "You are not now and never have been a bad person."

"Please don't hate me," Blaine rushed on, barely even registering Kurt's response. "I love you so much that I couldn't stand it if you hated me."

There was a rustling noise as Kurt swung himself around, his hands resting on his folded knees as he looked at Blaine earnestly. "Nothing you told me tonight changes how I feel about you. I-I love you too and it's because of who you are inside, so no made-up name or family drama — no matter how big — is going to change that."

Blaine had been so worried about Kurt's reaction that he hadn't even realized that he'd let the L-word slip out, but when he heard Kurt say it back it finally dawned on him. "You love me?" he asked with tears brimming in his eyes.

Kurt tilted forward and Blaine felt him wrap a hand around his neck, drawing him forward. "I do." Kurt kissed him softly on the lips. "I definitely do."

Their lips met again and Blaine let himself sink fully against Kurt, their weights helping hold each other up as their brains became occupied with far more important matters.

It was the first time he'd ever said "I love you." He'd never even come close before, to the words or the emotion itself. He'd always wondered when — or if — it would ever find him and never in a million years would he have imagined it would come in the form of a Broadway-bound fashionista with a heavenly voice and a soul as beautiful as his outside. Blaine counted his blessings that the exchange hadn't come sooner. The fact that he'd declared his love as Blaine and not as Brandon and that Kurt had known the truth about his past first made sure the moment wasn't tainted by any uncertainty or doubt.

Kurt sank down to sit against the headboard and tugged Blaine to him, cuddling him against his chest. Blaine closed his eyes in contentment when he felt fingers begin to card through his hair.

"So, Richard Anderson's your father, huh?" Kurt asked lightly, never stopping the soothing motion. "Do you think your grandparents knew how on the nose they were when they gave him a name that has the nickname of 'Dick'?"

Blaine couldn't stop the bark of laughter that escaped him. He didn't know how Kurt did it, but somehow he always made everything better.

"Should I call you 'Blaine' now? At least in private?"

Blaine longed to say yes, but held himself back. "You should probably stick to Brandon. It might be too hard to remember to do it only when we're alone."

"All right." Kurt pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Whatever you want."

"Could you say it one more time, though? Just this once?"

"Blaine. I love you."

"I love you, too, Kurt."

=^..^=

Kurt's opening night was fast approaching, so he'd decided to take advantage of a three day break in rehearsals to fly back home to see his dad.

Blaine had been wanting to ask more about Kurt's family and background, but he a little strange asking so closely to his own confessions, not wanting to turn it into a "I showed you mine, now you show me yours" kind of situation. He figured that everything would eventually come out naturally through the course of late night talks.

Kurt had been gone for only a little more than a day when Blaine began to feel lonely. It was funny how quickly he'd gotten used to always having someone around and, even though he knew it was kind of shallow, he was missing the attention. He prowled around the empty apartment for a while before deciding to go down to the local bar for a quick drink.

He grabbed a seat at the bar and was nursing a beer and having a lively debate with the bartender over the merits of singer-songwriters versus singers who didn't perform their own material when he saw Sebastian striding in the front door like he owned the place. With only a cursory glance around the room, Sebastian made a beeline for Blaine, dropping down onto the stool next to him.

"I don't know how you can drink that swill when there's top shelf liquor available."

"Sebastian, how's it going?" Blaine asked politely.

"Never better. I'm surprised to see you here alone. Kurt usually has you on a very short leash."

Blaine bristled at his familiar smirk. "He's out of town for a few days."

"Well, if that isn't the best news I've heard all week," Sebastian oozed. "Want to take this little party to my place and see what kind of trouble we can get into?" He lifted his hands up high in the air with a laugh at the unhappy look Blaine shot him. "Sorry. We can stay here. I'll be good, I promise. Just have a drink with me."

Blaine hesitated, then nodded warily. Sebastian was cocky and kind of annoying, but it was nice to have someone to talk to, even if it wasn't the person he wanted it to be.

=^..^=

The local financial advisor finished her presentation and was met with polite, if unenthusiastic applause. Her advice was probably very sound, but everyone in the room had been burned too badly by Winterland to put much trust in someone coming in and telling them what they should do with what was left of their money.

Sensing that she wasn't going to be getting a lot of new clients that day, the woman packed up her computer and briefcase and left, leaving the group behind to talk about more shady matters.

"How's it going with the Anderson kid?"

"We hope to have information on what he might know soon."

"I thought the plan you'd set up with your son didn't work out?"

"It didn't. The initial idea was for him to get close to Blaine, maybe strike up a romantic relationship with him in order to gain his trust, but Sebastian screwed up and lost his chance. Luckily, though, things still worked out and we have someone in place who will be able to get us whatever information we want." Mr. Smythe looked up at a man standing quietly in the back of the room and gave him what many people considered to be the patented Symthe family smirk. "It's funny how fate sometimes steps in…isn't it, Kurt?"


	6. Chapter 6

Summer had finally arrived, a fact that Kurt lamented on almost a daily basis. According to him, it was the least interesting season for fashion and the lack of scarves and snappy jackets was almost enough to put him into mourning. Blaine listened sympathetically, but inside was kind of thrilled to see Kurt dressed in fewer layers. It made ogling his delectable butt and broad shoulders so much easier.

A drawer in Blaine's bedroom and one in his bathroom were now partially filled with some of Kurt's things and as Blaine looked around his apartment, he could see all sorts of little evidence that pointed to how much time they spent together. One of Kurt's French cookbooks had found a permanent home on the kitchen counter, his phone charger was still plugged in beside the bed, a few of his TV choices were programmed into the DVR, and a half-completed puzzle that they'd been working on covered the kitchen table.

It was amazing how compatible they were, even in the little ways. They preferred opposite sides of the bed and Kurt's extended moisturizing routine coincided perfectly with the time Blaine took each night to stretch and meditate (something he'd picked up along with boxing, as a way of centering himself and managing his emotions). They both liked to read in bed for a while before turning off the lights, and they both preferred the "rain" setting on the white noise machine Kurt had bought him.

Blaine had never slept so well as when he was cuddled up contently next to Kurt's side.

Even Sebastian had added to the blissful place they found themselves in, having backed off — in the week since they'd had a drink at the bar — from his almost relentless pursuit of Blaine. They still ran into each other in the lobby sometimes, but other than the hungry look in his eyes, Sebastian was polite and respectful. He'd even stopped showing up at French Press. Blaine wasn't sure of the reason why, but he wondered sometimes if Kurt had had something to do with it. Maybe he'd confronted Sebastian and asked him to leave them alone. Blaine knew he didn't need rescuing, but the idea of Kurt being jealous enough to take action like that was kind of hot. He tried probing on the subject with Kurt a few times, but he'd been non-committal and changed the subject quickly, so Blaine had dropped it.

Time flew by and before they knew it, it was Kurt's opening night.

Kurt had left for the theater several hours before for a last minute dress rehearsal, so Blaine took his time getting ready for the big event. He shaved, using the aftershave that he knew drove Kurt crazy, and styled his hair before slipping into his freshly pressed suit. He reached into his underwear drawer and pulled out the new bow tie that he'd ordered from a shop in Australia a few weeks before. Kurt had shown him their website, sighing forlornly that their tie featuring little skeletons holding hands with a heart between them was out of his price range. Blaine had gone back after Kurt was asleep and bought it along with a one for himself that was silver and black paisley. He planned on giving Kurt the skeleton tie later that night as a surprise.

Kurt had been a bundle of nerves the last few days, sure that some disaster was going to befall the production. He'd even asked his friends not to come to the opening, saying that he'd be too nervous if he knew they were all out there on the first night. Instead, he'd asked them to come at the beginning of the second week, after he'd gotten his feet under him.

Blaine had thought that the request applied to him too, until one day when he'd mentioned how hard it was going to be to wait an entire week to see Kurt's performance. Kurt had gaped at him in astonishment and clarified that he was expecting Blaine eighth row center on opening night and for as many other nights as he could possible manage. The joy that Blaine had felt when Kurt said that there was no way he could imagine making his leading man debut without Blaine in the audience could have lit up New York for a week.

On his way to the theater, Blaine stopped at the florist shop where he'd pre-ordered a bouquet. The dozen long-stemmed red and yellow roses were perfect and he tucked them under his arm as he walked the rest of the way to the theater.

The show went off without a hitch and the audience gave the cast a standing ovation with the loudest applause sounding for Kurt, who was beaming as Blaine had never seen him. The backstage area of the theater was really small, so Kurt had asked Blaine to just meet him at the stage door so that they could walk over to the cast party together. Since he'd some time to kill while Kurt got changed and took his make-up off, Blaine lingered in the lobby, listening as the departing crowd talked about the show. It seemed that everyone was intrigued by the ethereal looking man with the distinctive, hypnotizing voice who had played Tommy and the consensus seemed to be that they expected to see him on Broadway very soon.

With a skip in his step, Blaine headed around to the stage door, roses and program in hand. He greeted the few cast members that he knew warmly as they exited the theater, congratulating them on a job well done and promising to see them soon at the party.

Finally, the door opened and Kurt stepped out, wearing tight dark gray pants, black calf-high boots, and a red and deep burgundy Alexander McQueen jacket that he'd fought tooth-and-nail for on eBay just the month before. He looked as if he should have been modeling the look on a runway.

Blaine stepped forward and held out his program, holding the roses behind his back with his other hand. "You were wonderful tonight, Mr. Hummel. May I get an autograph?"

"Why yes, you may," Kurt said breathlessly with a laugh as he signed his name with a flourish.

Several other autograph seekers were waiting, so Blaine stepped back, letting Kurt bask in the limelight. Then, after he'd signed the last program and thanked the last admirer, Blaine took his hand and pulled him in for a kiss.

"You were remarkable. No one could stop talking about you in there." He pulled the flowers from behind his back with great fanfare.

Kurt accepted the bouquet with a squeal of surprise and buried his face in the blooms, breathing in their rich scent. "I've never gotten flowers before," he cried. "At least not any that weren't from my dad or Rachel."

"I'm sorry your dad couldn't make it."

"That's okay. He can't leave the business right now. I understand." He tucked his arm into Blaine's as they started walking down the sidewalk. "I'm glad you were there, though. It made it more real, somehow, knowing that you were out there, witnessing the whole thing. Like I couldn't possibly be dreaming it or making it up in my head as long as you were there to share it with me."

Blaine didn't think he'd ever been happier. "Nope, no dreams here, except for the dreams coming true, that is."

Kurt tightened his arm and grinned. "Come on, let's go party!"

=^..^=

_Tommy_ ended its month-long run with glowing reviews for the whole production, its leading man in particular. Blaine ended up seeing the show six times and was the first one to his feet, applauding wildly, as the cast came out to take their bows each night.

Kurt had been asked by the theater to star in their next production too and had immediately gone into rehearsals, so he and Blaine had had limited time together for the past week, fitting in coffee and overnight stays when their schedules matched up. Finally, though, they both had a free evening and they were going to have an official date night.

Blaine finished his own rehearsal at the club and took off for home. On the spur of the moment, he ducked inside a florist shop to pick up some flowers. Kurt had been so happy with the bouquet Blaine had gotten him for his opening night and the look on his face was one Blaine wanted to see repeated over and over. He spent longer than he probably should have picking out the perfect ones — should he decide based on color? Type of flower? The meaning behind each bloom? Finally, he settled on a stunning bunch of purple Vanda orchids that looked just abstract enough to be mistaken for a piece of modern art.

Blaine paid for the flowers and checked the time on his phone, noting that he still had more than enough time to return home for a quick shower before picking Kurt up for their date. As he waited at the crosswalk for the light to change, he saw someone who looked very much like Sebastian worming his way through the crowd, which was impossible because there was no way that Sebastian would voluntarily be in that part of town. The light changed and he hurried across, catching sight of the man in question just as he ducked around the corner. It was Sebastian and he was acting very strange, looking over his shoulder furtively as if making sure that no one he knew had seen him.

Curious, Blaine decided to follow him. Halfway up the block, Sebastian stopped in front of a seedy dive bar that definitely wasn't his style. After seeming to confirm the address on his phone, he grimaced and went inside. Blaine was intrigued. He waited a few minutes, then opened the door to the bar, slipping inside, but staying near the entrance while his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Thanks to Sebastian's height he was able to spot him towards the back, talking with someone who was seated out of sight.

Blaine skirted the outside of the room, coming up on the opposite side of a large pillar that would stop Sebastian from spotting him. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to find. Was Sebastian meeting a drug dealer? A rent-boy? A blackmailer who demanded they meet in an out-of-the-way location? It most likely wasn't anything that exciting, and he felt silly and a touch guilty about what he was doing, but his interest was peaked and he was kind of hoping for an interesting story to tell Kurt later that night.

It was loud in the bar, so Blaine had to strain to hear Sebastian's conversation. He was only getting a word or two, but could tell from Sebastian's belittling and dismissive tone that he was probably not great friends with whomever it was that he was talking to.

Then, the music changed to a slower song and the noise level in the room dropped and Blaine could clearly make out an unfamiliar voice saying his name and then his father's. With dawning horror, he realized that Sebastian knew who he was and had obviously been deceiving him. Stunned, he stood up and was about to walk away when the voice rang out again, loud and clear.

"Now that you practically live with him, you'll be able to search the place. I bet we have our money back by this time next month. This has already taken way too long. When you agreed to try and get information out of Anderson we thought it would only take a few weeks for you to charm it out of him."

"I'm not Mata Hari. If you wanted a professional spy, you should have gotten someone else to do your dirty work."

Blaine didn't hear the response, if there was one. He was too caught up in the fact that he recognized the voice that had made the Mata Hari comment. It was too unique, too distinctive to be mistaken. Kurt. The blood drained from his face and the sound dropped out of the room as a sharp pain stabbed him in the chest. Was this what a heart attack felt like? Could everything he had with Kurt be a lie, a trick to get information about his father?

He remembered how he and Kurt had "met cute" and how he'd thought it was destiny, but now he realized it was probably all pre-planned.

Unthinkingly, he stepped back from the protection offered by the pillar. From his new vantage point, he could see Kurt sitting next to Sebastian and a tall man wearing an expensive suit. Kurt was glaring at the man and, as he rolled his eyes at something that was being said, he looked up, right to where Blaine was standing.

Their eyes locked, Blaine's wet with tears and Kurt's widened in horrified dismay. Neither said a word.

Blaine spun on his heel and forced his way through the crowd towards the door. Once outside, he looked down to the flowers that he still held tightly in his hand. With a wounded cry, he threw them to the street, getting a tiny bit of satisfaction when they fell into a puddle in the gutter.

Dimly, he heard the door open behind him. He didn't need to look to know who had followed him.

He turned around abruptly, not giving Kurt a chance to speak first. "Was it all a lie? Did you know who I was from the very beginning?"

"No! Bran…Blaine, no." Kurt looked sincere, but Blaine was no longer fooled. "The coffee shop...it really was an accident, at least on my part. I didn't know who you were until…later."

"And who are you? Why are you involved in this?"

"M-my dad was an investor in Winterland. He lost almost everything and was barely able to hold onto his business. His heart…things have been so stressful. I was really worried."

Blaine laughed bitterly. "So you want me to believe that it was just a coincidence that we met? Of all the people in New York, it just happened to be a Winterland investor's kid that I…fell in love with?" His voice began to crack at the end, making him even angrier that he couldn't control his feelings.

"I didn't know, I swear!" Kurt took a step forward, a hand raised pleadingly, but Blaine dodged it, shaking his head. Kurt dropped his hand back down, his shoulders sinking as if weighed down. "I had a crush on you within seconds of that slushie hitting your head and I was so, so happy when we started dating. You were sweet and wonderful and—"

"Did you know who I was before I told you everything?" Blaine interrupted.

"Yes," Kurt admitted guiltily, unable to meet Blaine's eyes. "Sebastian — he's from my hometown and we knew each other from school — he called me one night and started yelling about how I'd screwed up his plans to meet and get close to you. His father is a big time lawyer in Westerville and leads this group of investors who hatched a plot where Sebastian was supposed to get close to you to see if you knew where your father — and the money— is."

"And you just decided to work with them?" Blaine asked incredulously. "Our relationship meant that little to you?"

Kurt shook his head slowly. "I told them no, that I wasn't going to help them, but they kept calling and talking about my dad and how he deserved justice and how everything could be okay again if only we could find the money. I refused again and they said that if I wouldn't do it then Sebastian would. I knew he'd do anything to tear us apart, to worm his way in, and I couldn't stand the thought of you and him together, so I caved in finally. I thought that maybe I could find something, anything to placate them, to keep them away from you and that you'd never know."

Blaine did the calculation in his head. "So when did all this happen? I mean, you had to have known before I introduced you to Sebastian. Did he call you before or after he moved into my building?" Kurt again avoided his eyes, sending a wave a dread washing over him. "When did Sebastian call you, Kurt?"

Kurt's response was so low that Blaine had to strain to hear him. "The morning before our picnic in the park. The day I got the part in the musical."

Blaine didn't have to think at all to remember that day. It had been the day that he and Kurt had first made love. Kurt had slept with Blaine the night that he'd been asked to use his relationship to try and get information out of him. What he'd thought of as the most important night in his life had been nothing but a manipulative means to and end on Kurt's part. Everything was a lie. The entire foundation of their relationship, every heartwarming moment, every meaningful glance and soul stirring conversation since then, was part of a conspiracy to try and trick him.

"Wow. Okay." His anger boiled over and he lashed out, wanting to hurt Kurt as much as he'd been hurt. "It's quite a coup to win two lead roles in one day like that. Well, I hate to disappoint you, Kurt, but you whored yourself out for nothing. I don't know where my father is and, more importantly, I don't care. You've wasted your time and mine." He began to take a few steps backwards down the sidewalk, needing to put more space between them. "I admire your dedication, though. I always knew you were the type to fully commit yourself to a part. Bravo."

Kurt was crying now, his eyes and cheeks glistening in the passing headlights. "Blaine…Blaine, no. It wasn't an act. I swear it. I'm so sorry. Please don't—"

Anything else Kurt had to say was lost as Blaine stoically turned around and began to walk away. Thankfully, he heard no footsteps following behind him, so at least Kurt had enough courtesy not to try and drag the whole thing out any longer. The jig was up, the mask was off. There was no sense pretending anymore.

He reached the end of the street and fought the tiny urge to look back as he turned the corner. Just as the last sounds of the club music faded away he heard a plaintive cry ring out.

"Blaine!"


	7. Chapter 7

Blaine couldn't recall how he'd managed to get home, but his body's automatic pilot must have kicked in, because before he knew it he was opening the door to his apartment, the still darkness inside beckoning him.

He robotically went through the steps of settling in for the evening. He dropped his wallet and keys in the little glass bowl next to the door, put his shoes away in the closet, plugged his phone into charge, and washed the few dishes left over from breakfast.

After hanging up the kitchen towel, he went into the bedroom and grabbed a duffle bag from a storage box under the bed. Methodically, he emptied the drawers of Kurt's things, gently putting them into the bag. He cast a searching look around the room to make sure he hadn't missed anything, then headed towards the front door, stopping to grab the cookbook from the kitchen on the way. The sound of the zipper closing on the bag echoed through the quiet room.

Calmly, he opened the door to the outside hallway and set the bag down. He felt guilty for a second, but pushed the thought away. It was no longer his problem. If it got stolen it was probably the least that Kurt deserved.

Throughout the whole process, Blaine was dry-eyed, too much in shock to cry about the unfairness of it all.

He retreated to the living room and sank down onto the couch. The red light on the DVR was on and in the back of his mind he knew that it was recording the Bob Fosse biography that Kurt had been looking forward. He was going to be so disappointed that he missed it. That struck Blaine as a funny thing to be worried about right then and he began to laugh darkly. The laughter faded away quickly, though, and without any distractions he was unable to keep his thoughts at bay.

It had all been an illusion. Every smile, every kiss, every comforting hug and whispered confidence. Every moment in the past three months that he'd held onto like a lifeline.

Of course it had all been a lie. People like Kurt – funny, talented, passionate, opinionated Kurt – didn't fall for people like him. He should have realized from the beginning that something was wrong.

If Kurt had been willing to fake a relationship with him for so long, fighting what was probably disgust and anger about who he'd turned out to be, then finding the money must be really important to him.

Restless, Blaine strode towards the bathroom, stripping his clothes off as he went, dropping them like an expensive trail of breadcrumbs in his wake. He reached into the shower, turning the water on as hot as it could go and stepped in, letting the water pound down on his head and fall in sheets over his face. He stood under the pulsing water for several minutes before the effort to remain upright became too much and he sank down onto the tile floor, legs crossed, back hunched. For a second he just concentrated on the sensations: the water against his back, which was slightly cooler now that it had further to fall before reaching him; the solidity of the tiles beneath him; the smell of the French soap that Kurt had left there the week before. He let his mind go blank, trying to martial some of the meditation techniques he'd learned.

Eventually, the water ran cold, forcing Blaine to pull himself up off the floor. He toweled off and got dressed, putting on whatever clothes happened to be closest. He dried his hair, brushed his teeth, and flossed before curling up on the bed. He could feel an advancing coldness seeping into his chest, the tendrils working their way down his arms and legs until it seemed that every inch of him was frozen.

He played every moment of his time with Kurt over and over in his head, trying to find the moments he'd missed, the clues that would have shown him that Kurt hadn't feel the same way he did, if only he'd been looking. He couldn't find any. He didn't know if that made him especially gullible or just showed what a talented actor Kurt was. Maybe both. Probably both.

He wanted to hate Kurt, he really did. He wanted to feel the cleansing rage wash away all the one-sided love that was in his heart, but it never came. He loved Kurt. There was nothing he could do about that, no magic pill he could take, no hard truth he could tell himself that would change that fact.

He loved Kurt.

That thought kept echoing in Blaine's mind, a strange kind of background music to his thoughts of "what now?" and "how do I go on?" and eventually a calm and clarity fell over him.

Blaine had always felt like a coward. He'd let his family dictate his behavior and turn him into someone he wasn't meant to be, he'd let his father treat him like he didn't matter, he'd run away and changed his name instead of facing his life as Richard Anderson's kid. He'd always been a coward, but now, now was his opportunity to be something more. Blaine still loved Kurt and while Kurt might not really love him back, Blaine could do something for him. He had a way to make his life worth something for a change.

=^..^=

Blaine packed a bag and moved to a hotel the next day. He had to get away from the apartment where reminders of Kurt were everywhere. Kurt called several times in the days after his part in the plot was exposed, but Blaine never answered, and at the end of the second day, he blocked Kurt's number.

He went through the motions of his job, but spent most of the next few weeks racking his brain trying to figure out where his father might have disappeared to. He thought of all the countries he and his parents had visited on vacations when he was younger and disregarded them all. He couldn't be any place obvious or anywhere that he was tied to through family or friends or the FBI would have found him.

There were no friends that would be hiding him, at least to Blaine's knowledge, because no one had liked him well enough to put themselves on the line like that. His business associates and employees were in disgrace because of him — even if they hadn't known about the scam — so they were out, too. There was no one in Richard's life that he'd been close to, no one he would have tried to keep in contact with. The only person he'd ever really seemed to care about was…wait a minute. That was it.

The only person he'd ever really seemed to care about was the mistress he'd almost left Blaine's mother for.

An idea began to form in Blaine's mind, ironically inspired by recent events. If Richard had hidden himself away so well, then the only chance of finding him would be if he wanted them to.

Maybe there was a way to use his father's feelings for that woman from his past in order to draw him out.

Blaine returned to his apartment and burrowed into the back of his closet to pull out a small lockbox. He keyed in the code and open it, taking out a black notebook that held contacts and phone numbers from his former life. He found the number of one of the family's lawyers that he had trusted and wrote it down on a slip of paper.

Once back at the hotel, he called the lawyer and asked him to set up a meeting between himself and the FBI.

Two days later, Blaine was being shown into a conference room in the FBI building in lower Manhattan. His lawyer hadn't given the agents any details about why he wanted to meet, just saying that he had some information he'd like to share, so they were a little taken aback when he laid out his idea: contact Richard's former mistress to see if she had an email address that she could still contact him with. If his father wanted to keep the lines of communication open with her, like Blaine suspected he would, he might still be checking the email account she'd contacted him at earlier. If that was the case, they could send Richard an email claiming to be her and convince him to meet her. Blaine would show up at the location wearing a wire and try to get the location of the offshore bank accounts where he had hidden the stolen money.

The agents seemed intrigued by the mistress angle, but politely refused Blaine's other offer.

"Mr. Anderson, if we can get to your father while he's on American soil, we'll just arrest him and get the location of the money from him once he's in custody. There's no need for you to get involved further and certainly no need for you to wear a wire," one of the agents told him.

Blaine was prepared for this refusal. "You must have interviewed my father at least 20 times before the trial and you didn't get anything out of him. Look, I'm not doing this because I have some burning need to see my father in prison. He can stay wherever he is and rot for all I care. The whole point of my doing this is to help get the money back so that hopefully some of it can be restored to the people who invested in Winterland. If you want me to tell you the woman's name then you've got to promise to let me help." The agents looked at each other doubtfully. "I know my father and I really think this is our best chance to find the money. He won't suspect me — he wouldn't think that I'm man enough to stand up to him like this — and I might be able to get him to talk, maybe even get him to admit to something that might let you convict him of some additional charges."

That seemed to intrigue the agents and they conferred for a moment amongst themselves before asking Blaine to wait as they brought the offer to their supervisors. He waited in the conference room alone for an hour until they finally returned and told him that they were accepting his offer.

He told them everything he knew about his father's mistress and they promised to contact him as soon as they'd located her. Three long weeks passed with no word. Then, on a Monday afternoon, he received a call asking him to come back into the office.

The woman, Lisa Ness, had been found in Miami, Florida and had admitted to the agents that, though she hadn't been in contact with Richard since his conviction, she did have an email address for him that he'd promised was a way to contact him at, no matter what. Luckily, she'd become disenchanted with Richard when she'd learned how he had ruined the lives of so many people, so she'd had no problem cooperating.

Once they had the address, the FBI had sent Richard a mail from Lisa's account, saying that she was in trouble and that she wanted to see him. Someone at least claiming to be Richard had replied only five hours later, giving her a meeting location in the Florida Keys about a mile off U.S. Highway 1 and a meeting time that was only two days away.

Blaine sucked in a breath, surprised that it was all happening so fast. He spent the afternoon learning about the microphone he'd be wearing to the meeting and going over the story he was going to tell his father.

The next evening he climbed aboard a private FBI jet headed for Miami and as the plane left the New York skyline far behind, all he could think about was how he hoped what he was about to do would make Kurt proud.

=^..^=

Early the next afternoon, Blaine got into a rental car and headed towards the meeting location. He'd never been to the Florida Keys before and the drive along the overseas highway, which seemed to stretch on forever, floating above the water like something out of a fantasy movie, was something he really would have enjoyed under different circumstances.

He kept on driving as the highway crossed several small islands, eventually reaching the exit near the spot his father had specified. He turned onto a rough, sandy road and took it all the way to the end. He parked the car and walked down to the beach, towards a dock sticking out into the glorious blue water, stopping to wait in the shade of a palm tree growing close to the water's edge.

The dock was empty and for a minute Blaine wondered if his father had changed his mind or had somehow been tipped off. Then, he heard the sound of a boat approaching. An expensive speed boat came around into view and slowed down to pull up to the dock. The engine cut off and Blaine watched as his dad emerged from the back to throw a rope around the dock cleat to keep the boat from drifting away.

It was the first time he'd seen his father in almost 10 months. Richard hadn't done anything to disguise himself, though his skin was definitely tanned and his hair was slightly longer. He was dressed like he was just out for casual day of yachting, in white knee length shorts and a navy blue polo shirt. He looked like he'd been on some relaxing vacation and didn't have a care in the world.

Blaine stepped out of his shady spot and walked out onto the dock, stopping near the front of the boat.

Richard looked up as he approached his eyes narrowing when he recognized Blaine. He looked around, scanning the area watchfully, but he didn't seem particularly tense or concerned. He obviously didn't see Blaine as a threat.

"What are you doing here?" Richard asked suspiciously. "Where's Lisa?"

The anger at seeing his father again was almost too overwhelming for Blaine and it took him a second to remember his cover story. "She isn't here. It's just me. I tracked Lisa down and asked her to send the email. I'm sorry for tricking you, but I'm desperate. Mom…mom's sick and since the government seized all of the money she can't pay for her treatment." He let some bitter anger ring through in his voice, knowing that his father would expect it. "I need you to give me some money."

Richard laughed carelessly. "Why in the world would I give you money? You were probably doing a jig — or some kind of sashay — outside the courthouse as soon as the jury read the verdict. You probably even helped them convict me."

Blaine reached out a hand to grip the railing of the boat and jumped on board. "How could I have done that? I didn't know anything."

"I'm sure you could have found some way. You always hated me."

"I'm pretty sure it's the other way around." Blaine stopped and counted to 10 in his head to try and reign in his temper. When he was once again under control he started again. "But this isn't about me. The money isn't for me. You can't tell me that you want mom to suffer like this."

Richard looked him up and down silently for a minute. "How much?"

Blaine took a deep breath and went for it. "Two million."

"What?" Richard asked incredulously. "She can't be that sick."

"She'll need some money for when she recovers. She's not used to living like this. The stress is wearing her down." Blaine could see his father wavering. "Look, we can make this quick and painless. You can transfer the money to my account or I can set up an account in the same bank where you have the money since, I'm assuming, it has strict privacy rules. Whichever you want. I'll launder the money any way you want. No one will know where it originally came from."

There. The proposal was all laid out and now all Blaine could do was hope that he'd been convincing enough. Richard took a seat on a cushioned bench near the front of the boat and crossed his legs, looking absently out over the water, but Blaine could see in his eyes that he was considering the request.

"Just tell me which bank and I'll set up the account up today, right now if I can get service on my phone to call my lawyer," Blaine couldn't help adding. "You'll never have to see me again."

It was that final bit that seemed to push Richard into agreeing. He snapped out the name of a Swiss bank and Blaine pulled out his phone. He dialed a fake number the FBI had given him and pretended to talk to a lawyer about setting up an account at the bank in question. After a few minutes he acted as if he'd been put on hold.

"So, where have you been hiding anyways?" he asked nonchalantly, trying to get all the information he could. "You did a great job of disappearing off the map."

Suddenly, the sound of an approaching boat broke the stillness. Blaine and his father both look out across the water to see a large speedboat approaching with several men in suits on the deck. Richard spun around to glare at Blaine, obviously figuring out that the whole scene had been a set up. He quickly untied the rope from the dock and ran towards the back of the boat, where he jabbed the start button, causing the powerful engines to rumble to life.

Blaine took off for the side of the boat nearest the dock, but the boat was turning away towards open water before he could get to the ladder. When he realized that he was stuck onboard, Blaine headed back towards his father.

"What are you doing?" he yelled over the sounds of the motor as he held onto a railing to keep from being knocked off his feet.

"I can't believe you set me up," Richard yelled back, "I should have known it was a trap the second I saw you."

The boat took a wild swing to the left and Blaine was nearly thrown to the deck. "Stop! You can't think you can outrun them."

"All I have to do is make it to international waters. The feds can't follow me there."

"I'm pretty sure that's not true. Dad, listen to me—"

Out of nowhere, another boat appeared in front of them. Richard tried to swerve out of the way, but he was going too fast and clipped the back of the other boat as it passed. The impact made Blaine lose his grip on the railing and he felt himself flying through the air.

There was a flash of searing pain as he slammed headfirst into the wall of the cabin and then nothing.

=^..^=

Blaine slowly became aware of a slightly antiseptic smell and a quiet interrupted periodically by the far off sound of rubber soled shoes squeaking on linoleum. He pried his eyes open — which was surprisingly hard to do — and looked around, trying to figure out where he was. A throbbing in his head and shoulder kept him from moving too quickly, but he slowly registered the medical equipment off to his right side, noting that the monitors and IV drip bag were connected to his body.

A sound something like a sigh brought his attention over to his left and he turned his head to find Kurt standing next to a window. He was leaning against it wearily with one shoulder, as if he didn't have the strength to hold himself up without help.

Blaine must have made a noise, because Kurt's head suddenly snapped up. He stared in shock at Blaine for a second before hurrying over to his side.

"Oh god, Blaine. You're awake!" Kurt moved as if to grab Blaine's hand, but then seemed to think better of it, setting it down on the bed somewhere beside him instead. "Let me call a nurse."

"Wait." Kurt froze with his hand halfway to the call button and looked down at Blaine questioningly. "Where…?"

"You're in a hospital in Miami. Do you…do you remember what happened?"

Blaine nodded his head slightly, trying to ignore the ripples of pain that the movement caused.

"It was all over the news that your father had been recaptured. The details were sketchy — just something about an FBI sting and that he'd been caught on a boat in Florida. I was so happy when I heard. I kept picking up the phone to call you, but I chickened out. You hadn't been answering any of my calls and I was sure you didn't want to hear from me. Then, the next day I got a call from the FBI. Evidently you gave them my name as an emergency contact?" Blaine nodded again, this time with a little less pain. "They told me that you'd been hurt, but they wouldn't tell me how or where. I knew though. I knew it had something to do with your father. I flew down here later that day and when I got here the doctors said that the prognosis hadn't been good at first, but that things were looking up. That was four days ago."

"Four days?" Blaine croaked.

Kurt moved around to the other side of the bed to grab a glass of water from the counter. He slipped a bendy straw into it and held it up to Blaine's lips, who sipped at it gratefully.

"You have a head injury, a few broken bones, and internal injuries. You had surgery before I got here and have been unconscious ever since." Kurt gave a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "My dad was a little worried that you were going to break his record of seven days in a coma. I'll have to call him and tell him that he's still champion."

"Y-your dad knows about me?"

"He knew about Brandon the whole time, but I told him everything — who you really were and what I'd agreed to do — the day after you saw me with Sebastian."

"Was he mad?"

"Let's just say I was glad that there's 600 miles between Lima, Ohio and New York. I don't think he's ever been so angry with me."

"With you? I thought he'd be angry with me—"

Kurt made another aborted attempt to grab his hand. "No, never. He was so disappointed in me that I'd agreed to be a part of Mr. Smythe's plan. He's been calling every day to see how you are."

Blaine lifted the hand that wasn't connected to an IV up to his face, rubbing it gingerly. "The boat I was on hit…something. I remember losing my balance and then…Is my father okay?"

"They showed him on the news being taken into custody and he didn't look hurt, proving once again that the universe isn't fair at all." Kurt made a face as he turned to set the glass back down. "So it's true? You were helping the FBI find your father?"

Just then, a nurse came in to check on Blaine. Upon seeing that he was awake, she immediately called two doctors in to check him out, setting off a flurry of activity. Blaine waited patiently as they did their tests, darting his eyes every so often to Kurt, who had retreated to the far corner of the asked him his name — which took him a minute to answer as he tried to figure out which one they were expecting to hear — and the date and then checked his stitches and shined a light into his eyes. Finally, the doctors finished their poking and prodding and declared him on his way to a full recovery. They prescribed him some pain medication before leaving to presumably give the FBI an update.

Once they were alone again, Blaine asked Kurt to raise the head of his bed up a little and then haltingly told him the story of his idea to flush Richard out and the trip to the Keys. By the time he was done, moisture was gathering in Kurt's eyes.

"Why would you put yourself in danger like that?" Kurt asked, absently knuckling away a tear as it ran down his cheek before reaching out to cover Blaine's hand with his.

"I-I did it for you," Blaine said, dipping his head so that he didn't have to see Kurt's reaction. "I had to do everything I could to get the money back. It's what you wanted." He felt Kurt squeeze his hand tighter.

Kurt began to cry even harder. "You're worth more than every penny my father lost. More than all the money put together. If-if you'd died out there I don't know what I would have done. I love you so much. And I know you don't believe me or trust me, but I'll do anything, anything to make you see that I'm telling the truth. Please tell me what I can do."

Blaine had thought long and hard about his relationship with Kurt while he'd been waiting for the FBI to contact him again in New York. He'd been able to examine the situation without the fresh anger and pain of Kurt's betrayal and had slowly come to accept that Kurt hadn't been faking everything. Maybe hadn't been faking anything, except his ignorance of Blaine's true identity. Though he hadn't completely forgiven Kurt yet, he knew that he was at least willing to try. The fact that Kurt had come all the way to Miami to be with him in the hospital just helped confirm his confidence in that decision.

He realized they still had a ways to go to get back to where they'd been, but he knew now that it was possible they'd make it and that he wanted to try.

"You don't have to do anything, Kurt. I believe you."

"Then…do you think we c-can start over?" Kurt asked hesitantly. "Please?"

Blaine lifted his hand slowly and held it out as a greeting, a smile dancing over his lips. "Hi, Kurt, it's nice to meet you. I'm Blaine. Blaine Anderson."


End file.
